I was blessed with the best big brother in the world. Keith was only a year and a half older than me, and although we were worlds apart in personality, likes, dislikes, and ambitions, I idolized him.
Keith left for a semester of college the week before I began my senior year in high school. He went to Ricks, way up in Idaho, and I missed him, but he had a ball and I was growing up and enjoying school myself, so the semester went quickly.
Keith came home at Christmas and it was just like old times, except we knew it wouldn't last. A month later he turned 19 and was called to serve a mission in Oregon. Being members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day-Saints meant expecting Keith to go on a two year mission when he turned 19. Most young men did, and it was something Keith had planned on his whole life. Still, it was a bitter sweet parting.
Our whole family and many of Keith's friends went to the airport to see him off. I hadn't thought it would be so hard to say goodbye. After all, he had gone away for six months to school so it wasn't like it was the first time he left us. But it was hard. I remember Mom having tears in her eyes, though she tried not to make a scene, and I had a lump in my throat that wouldn't go away. Thank goodness for Richard Brinton, Keith’s best friend. He broke the tension.
Richard was always late; to church, to school, for dates, always. On the way to the airport Keith predicted that Richard would be late to see him off. In fact, if I remember right, Keith predicted that Richard would also be late for his own wedding and his funeral. Funny, but he was right on all three accounts. Anyway, we got to the airport, Keith checked his luggage and got his ticket, and then we all stood around in the waiting area, wondering where Richard was. He didn't come and he didn't come. They called Keith's flight and still Richard wasn't there. The other passengers boarded, Keith gave Mom and all of us hugs and kisses, and still Richard wasn't there.
The last call for passengers boarding for Salt Lake City was announced, Keith gave us all a wave and a smile, and he walked through the gate to get on his plane. Mom was about to loose it, Julie and Sharon, who were still really little, were crying, and I was about to burst into tears myself, when Richard finally came running up. He was huffing and panting, running for all he was worth up the stairs to our gate, but he was too late.
Everyone began laughing and patting his back, proclaiming "we told you so", and Richard grinned and asked if he could at least send a note to Keith on board. The lady at the gate agreed, so Richard wrote, "Keith Russell - Richard Brinton" on a piece of paper. He wasn't very good at writing notes, either. I guess Keith got it. I thought we could see him waving out of his tiny widow as the plane taxied away, but it's hard to see with tears in your eyes.
Keith was a good missionary, and Richard was too when he was called to serve in Scotland a few months later. I tried to write to both of the regularly, although being a senior in high school and then a freshman in college kept me pretty busy.
Two years later we went back to the same gate at the airport to welcome Keith home. Richard wasn't home from his mission yet, so we didn't have to worry about him being late, but Keith broke the tension for us himself. Sharon, who was now almost 11 years old, ran up to him as soon as he walked out of the gate, grabbed his hand, and didn't let go. After greeting everyone Keith started walking down the hall to the baggage claims. Leaning over to mom he whispered, "Who is this little girl holding my hand?" Later he told us he'd wondered if we brought a neighbor kid or something. Sharon had changed so much in two years he didn't even recognize his own baby sister.
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