Dear Michael

Dear Michael-
 Today is your 34th birthday. Just writing it makes me tear up a little. You are not here and I miss you. I remember your last birthday. We came and picked you up from work and gave you your presents. Then we went to that restaurant you loved, what was the name? I should remember but I don't. The owner thought that we were married. I laughed. It made me remember when we were teenagers. One summer, I must have been 16 or 17, which would have made you 14ish, we were in Utah on vacation. We were staying in a hotel downtown and you and I were up on the roof in the pool. We got into a conversation with some other kids that were in the pool with us. They thought you were my older brother. We went along with it. Made up a story about our lives with you as the older brother, me as the younger sister. They bought it. We both laughed. Who we were was so much a part of our relationship that anything else seemed like a crazy story. I was the older sister, you were the younger brother, it was who we were. I felt responsible for you and protected you and defended you and loved you. That is what older sisters do. I also bossed you around and told you what to wear and what to do and who to be. Maybe that was part of the problem. I always thought I knew what was best for you, that mother hen in me getting practice before I even became a mother. It was OK when we were young, our lives were simple then. But as we got older and life became complicated, I still wanted to make decisions for you, tell you what to do. I am sorry for that. Sorry that I didn't just let you be you. Sorry that I didn't understand. I think I see things more clearly now. I see some of the reasons you felt the way you did. I feel a little of the heartache you felt, the loneliness that settled in and wouldn't leave. It is too late for any of that to help now, but maybe it makes you feel better in heaven, knowing that I understand. We pray for you still, even in heaven you need prayers I think. Every night when Paige says her prayers, she asks Heavenly Father to bless Uncle Mike in heaven. It is sweet, her little voice praying for you. It makes me feel connected somehow. Like maybe you aren't so far away. Because some days it feels like you are. Some days it feels like you are a million miles away. Like that life that we lived together is so far in the past that I am losing hold of it. And then my little girl brings it back and reminds me that you are here, still a part of me. And that is nice. But I still do wish that you were here. Really here. That we could take you to lunch today, that the kids could sing Happy Birthday to you. That you would be here for Thanksgiving dinner and sit on the couch with Dad and Jeff watching football while Mom and I cooked and the kids played. I will always wish that, wish that you were here and that your life had been full of happiness. That we could grow old together and watch our children grow and make new stories to tell. But you are not. And on your birthday that feels especially sad. Because I miss you and I love you. And I hope that heaven is a place where you can feel that.               
                                                                                                                       Love, Erin