Missing Jesse

I just read a blog post by a friend of the family who just lost a cousin born in 1982 and it got me thinking about Jesse in a sad way. I miss him so much it physically hurts me sometimes, as in physically debilitating pain. Sometimes it feels really good to just cry about it.

I recalled I had written him a letter as part of the Christmas present I did for him the Christmas before he passed away. I haven't read it since writing it--and I went back and looked at it today. I thought I would post it in here, in case anyone else is missing him too. For brevity, I left the photos out.

Dearest Jesse:

As Christmas draws near, I started thinking about what to get you for a present. That made me start thinking about the holiday in general. I am so excited to have Whitney in my life and spend my first Christmas with him. What a blessing in our lives to have spouses who we love more than anything. But, Christmas to me will always be about more than just Whitney and the eternal love we share. Because as far back as my tiny little brain can process, Jesse’s always been there. Christmas is about the eternal love between all family—not just spouses. At four am, or three am, or whatever insane time my poor, over-stimulated, commercially supercharged child mind woke me up on Christmas morning, I would go out to see all the presents Santa brought. But, not alone—never alone. I always woke up Jesse. It wouldn’t have been fun to sit alone from four am until eight or nine am, when the parents finally relented to the incessant pleas to come and open presents. I had to have my Jesse there to obsess over how many presents each person got, pour over the contents of my stocking (fair game) and wonder whose go-cart, or trampoline, or plastic kitchen was unwrapped and open to the air for all to see (and covet).

I have attached some photos of Christmases throughout the years, as well as other photos throughout this that I found applicable. We, as humans, are the sum of our experiences, I think. And almost every positive experience in my short life has involved you. It’s not limited to Christmas, of course. But, a lot of fun memories do stem from the Christmas season. And soon, we will both have children of our own to share the magic of Santa and Christmas and general joy of the season with. You have been sick recently and the doctors (as of the time I am writing this) don’t know why. It scared me Jesse. I know in my heart that life goes on after this life, and my mind agrees with my heart. But I am selfish; I don’t want to continue on in this life without my Jesse. It’s not Christmas without you. It’s not Easter without you. We’re not the Stuckeys without you.

I don’t mean for this to be depressing, though. Actually, I am writing this to remind you of all the happy times we shared. Some of these memories will be accompanied by photos—some will not. I am pretty limited in which things I have pictures of. I was looking through the two photo albums I made (one from when we were just kids, and one from when we were high school aged through my freshman year at BYU.) It’s funny that the random pictures of the people you don’t care about somehow make it into the photo album and there aren’t nearly enough pictures of the people that matter. It is truly as we grow older that we finally can grow some perspective.

I remember from almost my first memories, that I loved my brother Jesse. You were a smart one from the beginning. You found (undeniably) the largest egg in our Easter Egg Hunt at Grandma’s house. You wouldn’t let go of that croquet ball either, no matter what we told you, because you wouldn’t lose your prize.

You loved to dance, and we all danced with you—especially to that food song (I recall something about peas!) But, none of us quite had your moves. It’s really a shame you didn’t retain that dancing talent. Vanilla Ice would have paled in comparison. I don’t recall if you danced to Ray Stevens (that slapstick singer guy) but that is the first time I remember that our musical tastes diverged! Ah, the blasted squirrel song!

I also remember how you would sing like Dad did. I wish I had a picture of you singing. You would puff your little chest out and stick out your lips to affect Dad’s ultra bass, because no one sang cooler than Dad did to little Jesse’s ears. I recall with fondness when we were young and less fondness as we grew older (ha ha) our caroling every year around Christmas as a family. Actually, we still liked the caroling, but the capes fell out of favor with the children. You and I, if memory serves, usually manned the bells. It was pretty fun to shake those bells in time (theoretically, anyway) to the music on songs like Jingle Bells. To Mom’s dismay, she had to stop us from shaking them in time to songs like Silent Night. I also remember years together in band. Dang, we were cool. J But I don’t think anyone will forget the adorable little kid who had to carry in his phone books to sit on while bigger kids carried in the Suzaphone he was going to play. It speaks volumes in my mind about your personality that you had enough hot air to play such an instrument well.

I remember hours and hours and hours and hours (and yes, more hours) of Risk and Monopoly and that French card game with street signs, and more Monopoly and Risk. We played hours and hours of video games, too, once we had them. From Atari, to Game Boy and finally to Super Nintendo, with its Final Fantasy/SuperMarioCart/Airline Company games. And on dad’s computer, we all shared that silly SimCity game. I think after that point, you boys kinda left me far in your wake. It was during the obsessive car games period that Tiki (aka, the bird who was supposed to talk but never did, was supposed to die but almost never did, and was supposed to clean himself but refused to scratch his own feather sheaths) learned to make car noises. Given his limited intellect, that was substantial evidence that a condemning amount of time had been spent on car games in his general vicinity.

I remember tramping around in Louisiana, sometimes with a purpose, like picking blackberries or shooting be-be guns at birds, and usually without purpose. I recall swimming in Uncle Larry’s pool and cutting palm frond things and eating thistles. We were real wilderness survival gurus. I assume that’s when your fondness for Mastiffs truly developed. We played tag football on the street in California, preceding the summer of baseball and pizza. Oh, you were a smart one. You let me root for loser Tim Salmon, because he was cuter of course, while you kept Mike Piazza’s cards. Piazza, now that I think about it was strikingly similar to the word Pizza, our other summer theme. I bet we ran back and forth from our house (past the teeny horse farm, under the pomegranate bushes) to the card shop/pizza place enough times to have prepared us for kiddie marathons. We were in better shape than Andre Agassi, or Lance Armstrong. Oh, and the Becketts. I’m sure I still have them somewhere, but I bet they still aren’t worth anything. How did we earn the money to pay for those? Were we still selling jewelry/candy?

I remember you originally joined BHB (Bridget’s Homeade Bracelets) as an employee, and then grew wise to the whole deal. You could make far more working for yourself— selling atom bombs and lemonheads. You were the sour candy king of the school and neighborhood. And you never lacked for nickels. I believe that is when you learned to make bread, and your future as an economist became more secure.

I remember going to the zoo. You kept the money Mom and Dad gave us (although I think you bought one thing) and merely played with my fuzzy animal toys and Clint’s gorillas. I spent what they gave us and my birthday money from Grandma. I realized you were wise, then, but it didn’t curb my Michael Jackson-esque spending, no, no. J I remember eating a lot of pancakes off a camping stove that trip—but it was an adventure. And I loved those dried blueberries at the time. I thought they were way better than real or frozen ones! We dealt with bear boxes, saw huge trees and smashed cars, and raccoons. (I may be mixing several camping trips here!)

Later, I remember debate tournaments. I recall watching you grow from a newby to a talented, professional partner. I remember realizing in debate for the first time that you were smarter than me. And I wasn’t jealous at all—just proud. I remember watching your confidence grow during debate, and your personality refined. You were growing into the man you are today right before my eyes. I was so very sad to leave you when I went to BYU. I remember thinking we should have been born twins—then we wouldn’t have had to be apart those two years. I imagine they were a difficult two years for you, too.

I remember while we were in High school together, going to church dances. I remember going to swim practice, and more often than not, skipping and going to watch movies. I recall swim meets, and theater. Doing Midsummer Night’s Dream with you was so fun—and such a wonderful blessing. I remember EFY after High school (the summer after my senior year.) We were all in the same group—and we met Chrissy Rabe that summer. (Our Japanese Super model friend!!) And crazy Maren, the first person I knew by that name. We ate a lot of French fries with ketchup, if I recall, because the other food wasn’t that great!

I could go on for longer about all the times we spent together, but I want there to be some hope of you actually finishing this letter. You may not remember this, but when you got mad as a kid, I was the only person in the family you would listen to. Mom or Clint would enlist my aid to go talk to you—so you would stop your freeze outs. They were very impressive for a kid your age. You could always talk to me then, and I hope you still feel like you can always talk to me now.

We have been through a lot in growing up. I am sure that I have done things that disappointed you, or let you down. I imagine the same can be said in reverse. But, I think that the people with the greatest power to hurt our feelings are also the people with the greatest amount invested in us—the people most like us—the people who are truly a part of who we are. You are part of who I am. You are probably more like me than any other human in the world, setting aside your baseball and economics passions! And although we are similar, our differences make us closer as well. It’s the many things I can learn from you, and do each time we talk, that I value today.

I look at the relationships between close siblings who are Dad and Mom’s age and it fills me with a sense of sorrow. Even the close siblings seem to have lost part of the familiarity and erected boundaries that keep them from connecting as we did all growing up. I don’t want that with you and I. I want our kids and families to help us grow stronger, and closer together. I want you to know that I want to be a part of your and Angela’s life.

Angela and I did not get off to the best start. I think one or both of us may have been a little jealous of the other, or maybe we just got up on the wrong side of the bed. I can’t explain it. But, I have come to see how very much she loves you. And in that thing (and we have found others) we are very similar. I see how she takes care of you, and how she helps you to grow and develop—how she supports you and helps you become a better Priesthood holder and future father, a better husband. And I love her so much for that. I love her for her love for you, for her sacrifices, and for her kindness to our family and me personally. I am so very excited for you both—your twins are such a profound blessing. All our dreams are coming true, Jesse. We have only to build our family compound and the “Stuckey Waco” can become a reality. Ha ha, but truly I hope we all end up living next door and raising our families together. I can’t imagine raising my kids without their Uncle Jesse and Aunt Angela. Aunt Angela to tease them, and Uncle Jesse to make jokes, and teach them, and both of you to love them. And I hope I can do the same with your kids.

What a wonderful blessing the gospel and eternal families are in our lives. I truly believe that we have some choice in who came to be a part of our families here on the Earth. I believe that on the basis that I am sure, absolutely certain in my heart of hearts that if I could pick any person in the world to be my brother, I would have chosen you. What a merciful and loving Heavenly Father that he granted what must have been a fervent wish on my part. I hope this Christmas Season you can feel all the love and support all your family feels for you. And I hope these small memories and well wishes help you to feel in a small part the love that our Heavenly Father has for you. None of your loved ones are perfect, but we are doing our very best to honor the wonderful gift we all received from our Father in Heaven of having you in our lives.

I love you, Jesse, with my whole heart, and will from eternity to eternity.

Merry Christmas,

Bridget