Monthly Archives: August 2012

Dear Derek

Dear Derek,

I realize you can’t actually read this, but you were quite possibly this blog’s biggest fan, so it seems appropriate to write about you today.

You are gone from this earth.  For whatever reason, the Lord decided that taking you home was the right and proper thing.  And I’m not one to argue with the Lord.  I know His plans are wonderful and complete.  And I know that you are whole and rejoicing in the fullness of Christ right now and that, given the choice, you wouldn’t choose to come back.

But I’m still a bit selfish.  And part of me wants you back here…for fairly selfish reasons.

I would like to go on another somewhat ordinary, but always immensely fun, adventure with you and Melissa.  I would like to go camping like we discussed doing five months ago.  I would like to hear you say, “Hello…Baby.” to Augustine again right before you let him chew on your nose.  I would like to have the chance to tell you one more time that Katy Perry, Ke$ha and Carly Rae Jepsen are never, ever the answer.  I would like to hear you laugh at a bad pun, see you do your crab scuttle, and yell at Joe on MasterChef again.  And I would like to tell you how much I appreciate your friendship.

Because I do.  Very much so.  And I never really expressed that.

You and Melissa have always been so very loving and welcoming to me.  I’ve always felt like I had a place in your living room.  The fact that you often uttered the words, “Are you leaving? Why do you hate us?” when I had to get home for the night (usually at ungodly hours after spending most of the day with you two, at which point I assumed I’d overstayed my welcome) only solidified that.  Your recollection for the absurd jokes the three of us shared was astounding and wonderful.  And your unwavering appreciation for the things you liked (even if they were things that seemed strange to others) was borderline inspiring.  I’m not sure I will ever have another friend who could love a good cigar and watching the Lindsay Lohan version of The Parent Trap with equal amounts of enthusiasm…and not be afraid to admit it openly.

Your love for Melissa and Augustine was admirable, as was your love for the Lord.  Over the past year, I’ve been astounded by your devotion to your family and your complete trust in Christ.  You are a true example of what it means to be a godly husband, father and friend.  And I will miss that friendship.

I am confident in the Lord and His plans.  I am glad that you are in His presence.  But I will miss you.

I love you, brother.  And I’m honored to have had the chance to spend time getting to know you.

Sincerely,

Chelsea

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Dear Concourse A

Dear Concourse A in the El Paso International Airport,

My plane takes off from Concourse B, but I have a three-hour layover here and there are only a handful of eateries and shops in the immediate area.  After an hour and a half of looking longingly at overpriced M&Ms bags and puzzling over a variety of nick-nacks, such as the following:

exploring Concourse A seemed like a really good idea.  After all, this is an international airport.  Surely Concourse A, which houses American Airlines, would be far more awesome than the store selling the Chihuahua in a taco and $7 bags of gummy worms.

You were shrouded in mystery, Concourse A, the kind of mystery that lifts the hopes of weary and bored travelers.  What could you possibly contain? Eateries of better quality than Pizza Hut and Quiznos? A sandwich that costs less than $11?  Peanut Butter M&Ms? I didn’t know, but I wanted to find out.

So, I walked the short distance across the airport to find you, hoping that you would at least host an interesting book store or people worth watching.

Imagine my disappointment when I reached the end of the hall, having passed only a lame sports bar and a newsstand along the way, and found gates and seats and no excitement.  You failed, Concourse A.  Your contents are as vapid and empty as anything Carson Daly is involved in.  There is nothing here that is remotely entertaining.

I mean, at least the shop in Concourse B had a Chihuahua wearing lipstick and false eyelashes.

Why can’t you be more like your little brother, Concourse A?

Sincerely,

Chelsea