The shock of your death came so swift and unexpected. It's been strange to read your obituary and all the comments from neighbors and even from Tracy. It all sounds like you, but an older you than I remember. My memories go way back to our childhood and growing up, before any of those people even knew you. I will keep my memories.
Random memories of you . . .
Your laugh.
Walking home from Firesides at the church.
Babysitting your nieces and nephews together, and you never knowing where to find anything in your own kitchen.
Watching your baseball games, and you running your legs off to talk to me afterward.
Eating at Canton Village in Spanish Fork. Your piece of chicken slipping from your fork, bouncing in the middle of my food, and then rolling across the floor.
Rides up the canyon in your Camaro, listening to your favorite album "Foreigner 4."
Me swearing for the 150th time that I would not ride on that motorcycle with you again, and be on the back when you did a wheelie all the way down the street.
Being Mickey and Minnie mouse in the ward roadshow when we were young, and all the practices for that.
Your letters and phone calls from your mission in Florida. Even waking us up on Christmas morning.
So many more . . .
Things were not always good between us, Sean. But there were many lovely days when we were kids without cares or fears. In our case, those days turned into years. They were good years, when our parents were friends, and we were also. You made me feel great about myself. I will always cherish that. Be at peace, my friend.
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