My story from it’s earliest moment is a shared one. In truth, everyone’s story is shared; no one would survive to adulthood without the diligent nurturing God designed us to require. Yet I consider my co-existence even more entwined. The first words our ears heard from the womb were the doctor’s announcing, “Mrs. B, you have a boy…. Mrs. B, you have a girl... Mrs. B, you have twins!” So from my earliest existence, I’ve been half of something unique. Most times I loved it. I had an automatic friend, a brother whose friends were fun and intriguing. Occasionally it was a drag. I never had my own birthday. A willing informant at the ready, there was no room for duplicity of character in my life. I had to be the same whether I was at home, at school, at play. Everywhere I went, my other half, part shadow, part sun, was with me there.
Until he wasn’t.
We turned 18 at the beginning of our senior year and missionaries served at 19. So when it was time for college to start, B was headed to Portugal and I was headed to Provo. And for the first time in our lives, a major adventure commenced independently.
As I read my journal, there are several times I wonder if I can manage, if I can do this alone. L was also at BYU, but she was a 15 minute walk away and working to make her own way the same as me. My parents were a long way away in Michigan. And my cousin-roommate was homesick and just as preoccupied with the transitions to self-sufficiency as I.
I took my first wobbly steps and I did manage. I missed my family. I noted that B was special and that I needed to find someone just as special eventually. Yes, I was a half of a special whole. Yet I was a whole half.
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