28 years. That’s how long it’s been since we’ve talked about it. Not that we’ve ever really talked about it at all, but that’s how long it’s been in general. Since it happened. Since you made the choice that would put your life on a different trajectory, away from our family. 28 years since, by all accounts, I’ve lost you. Since we all have lost you. Mom. Dad. Step-Dad. Sister. Perhaps, since you lost you. Mormon brother, here’s all the things I wish I could say.
28 Years Missed
We are grown now, with families of our own. I hardly know your kids, and you hardly know mine. We see each other on holidays, text on birthdays, and exchange niceties ever so often.
What I wish I could say, though. Past, “Happy Birthday, old fart.” I would say so much if I could. If I wasn’t afraid of losing what little of you I have left. If I wasn’t afraid of being cut off again.
Mormon Brother, I’m Still Here
I would tell you how much I love you. I know you know I love you- we’ve never really had an ill will for each other. But I would tell you how much.
That I would drop everything and be there for you if you let me.
That I would answer my phone if you called.
That I would answer your questions if you had any.
I would give you my last dollar.
I would bring you soup if you’re sick.
I would sit with you, quiet, just to be there.
I would slip and fall in the most ugly way possible just to make you laugh.
I would walk into the storm for you.
Mormon Brother, I Love You
Before all of it happened, I would tell you how much you meant to me. How you were my only constant and safe place. Life around us was like being in the center of a tornado dodging debri, scared, trying to just survive- but at least we were in the center together. How, with you in there with me I was OK. We were OK. I always saw you as the older brother, holding my hand, protecting me. And then one day out of the blue, you let go, walked out, and left me in that storm to survive alone.
I thought maybe you would come back and get me. I was so young. But you only got further away. Harder to see through the dust and clouds.
I would tell you I know you were just a kid, too. And you did what you thought you had to. I would tell you I know I expected a lot from you, and that I was sorry. That I would be better.
I would tell you that when the storm settled, I looked for you. I searched and searched and never gave up. That I’m still searching. I think we all are, honestly. Mom, Dad…step Dad. How do you tell someone right in front of you, that you’re searching for them? That you miss them? We miss you so much.
Even though we supported your decision and showed up to every important event following your conversion- we looked for signs you were still, you. It was like following your ghost around, hoping you would turn around and see us.
We were there. For all of it. We were searching, in all of it. And you never turned around. What you were searching for the entire time, was right behind you. All you had to do was turn around.
I would tell you, Mormon brother, that how you started to look at me, was different. How you talked to me, was different. How you treated all of us, after it happened, was different.
Mormon Brother- Mom Never Stopped Crying
I would tell you about all the times Mom cried.
I would tell you about all the times I had to comfort Dad.
I would tell you watching your parents grieve a son that was very much still alive, is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy
I would tell you about all the times your new family belittled us.
How hurtful it was that we were pushed aside and treated like second-class citizens.
I would tell you that in all of that pain and hurt, we still showed up for you. We were still there. Loving you.
I wish I could tell you how Dad wept with his face against the airport’s glass window as he watched you leave. I never saw him cry like that, and never did again.
I wish I could tell you that after you left, Mom fell apart. And, rightly so.
I wish I could tell you how empty downstairs felt without you.
I wish I could tell you I had to shut your door because it still smelled like you.
I wish I could tell you I would come home from school, and Mom would be in your room, crying. Alone.
I wish I could tell you how lonely I felt after you left, Mormom brother.
How Christmas was so different and hard. How Birthdays weren’t the same. How I couldn’t take Mom and Dad’s pain away, and that was really hard. Really hard to realize at such a young age you are not enough. Because there were supposed to be two of us.
Mormon Brother- I Pray For You
I would tell you how fervently I prayed for you. And 28 years later, how I still do. How, through it all, I’ve always shown up. I’ve always been there.
I would tell you how painful it was that we couldn’t even go to your wedding. Because we weren’t holy enough. We weren’t enough. I wasn’t enough.
But yet, we were there. As close as we could have been. All you had to do was turn around. All you have to do, still, is turn around.
I would tell you that Jesus loves you, and there’s nothing you have to do to earn His favor and love. I would tell you, you don’t have to try so hard. I wish I could tell you that with us, you don’t have to be perfect.
I would tell you that you’re completely and holy forgiven. That Christ’s death on the cross finished it. It covered all your sins, past and present and future.
We could have been so much closer. Our kids could be so much closer. We could have become the family we never had.
I wish I could tell you how you missed out. I wish I could tell you I’m a pretty freaking awesome sister. I have wisdom I would have shared. We’re in our 40s now, and we never share our life lessons like siblings should. I know I’ve missed out on not having you a part of my life. But do you know what you’ve missed?
I wish I could carry your burdens. I wish I could make you laugh. I wish I could tell you I’m OK- I made it out of the tornado and created a beautiful little family that you completely miss out on.
I wish I could tell you how I will help. I will help clean the floors. Hug the kids. Knock sense into you when you’re being a jerk. How you’re enough, exactly how you are.
But of all the things I wish I could say….
Mormon Brother- I Miss My Real Brother
I wish I could tell you to leave the Mormon Church. I wish I could tell you- you’re a victim. I wish I could show you the evidence. I wish I could tell you, you’ll be OK. I wish I could take their control away, if even for a second. I wish you would just run away from them. I wish I could tell you they saw your child-like faith and they took advantage of you, and still do. They manipulated you, and still do.
If I could, I would walk into the tornado you’re in. I would make the monsters go away. I would protect you from them. I would never let go of your hand. I would never walk away.
I wish I could tell you that it’s been 28 years, and I haven’t lost hope that you will finally turn around. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t begged God for you to come back to our family.
Brother. We love you. We miss you. We’re right behind you.