My Little Brother- A Missionary

Dropping off my little brother at the Missionary Training Center was an emotional challenge.  I mentally prepared myself for weeks to NOT CRY THE ENTIRE drive down to Provo.  The night before (and a few nights before that, thanks to his Facebook statuses) I was bawling.  Even though I saw the movie Bridesmaids the night before, I still managed to get teary in the middle of that for some reason because I started thinking about it.  Of course I am proud of him.  Of course I know it is voluntary and he WANTS to do this.  But I just kept thinking how much I'd miss his bony, awkward hugs and when we would snap into our 1940s characters representing old time ideal American family.  (I think only my mom and dad know these characters we would act out, but essentially, we would refer to each other as brother dear and sister dear, and skip around talking about how agreeable everything was)

But anyway, Austin and I picked him up on Wednesday morning and Dave was too anxious to go out to eat or anything.  Rather, we went straight there and just chatted about random stuff.  Dave kept letting out his usual squeals of "Wooooooooooooooooooooooo" to let out the anxiety.  As we got closer, his chatter got slightly more frantic, and when I asked him if he was sure he didn't want to stop for a snackie, he replied, "No, that's okay, I just really need to poop."  Ah.  I understand.  I feel the same way before a half marathon or a scary rollercoaster ride.  The nerves and excitement really get peristalsis going!  (TMI? Oh well!)

Soon enough, we entered the gates of the MTC.  I felt like I was going inside an FBI facility because of all these guards (although they were dressed in their Sunday best).  We took our last picture, and then I lost it.  But DUH, what do I have a heart made of stone? Of course not! You can't help but break into tears when you hug your little brother and tell him you love him, words you have probably only said....well, actually I don't think I've EVER said that to his face!  I told him that I loved him so much and that he should really know how proud his entire family was of him. 

I'm sure he felt relieved just to get there and get started, but I couldn't help but worry the rest of the day about whether or not he liked the food, if he was making friends, and whether or not he was worried about the future.  Then I realized, probably not because Mormons know how to make food, IT'S DAVE and he makes friends everywhere, and Dave doesn't really worry about the future...that's just me.  Oh man, I'm not even a mom and I worry about everyone else around me.  I can only imagine what I will be like when I do have kids.