Dear John,
I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate your post about Paul. It was pure, honest, straight-forward brotherly love. Then I read your post about me. And I just don't know what to say, except that:
You won't be writing a post about yourself, but it's only right that people see all three of us, especially you.
I remember you first as the hummer, the wild man, my little brother. You hummed around the house from an extraordinarily young age, almost before you could walk, humming made up tunes or ones you heard on the CD player with uncanny musical sense. You jumped off everything. Every morning, a loud thud alerted Paul and I that our little toddler brother, still in diapers, had clambered over his crib and plummeted to the floor below. You also had a proclivity for climbing out of your highchair and stepping forth into space with perfect assurance. Rosy, sturdy, and one enormous lone blond curl--that's how I first remember you, my little brother.
I remember breaking your arm by pushing you down the stairs. You were three, and when Dad took you to the ER, the doctor was going to give a big dose of pain med. Typical doctor Dad contravened that nonsense, and your arm was set without any pain relief. "Oh" That's all you said. Just "Oh". No crying. You were tough.
With time, you developed your musical talents on the cello and piano, never practicing like I had to, but amazing your teachers all the same. Sailing, skiing, backpacking, canoeing, no matter what we did, when you were there it was more fun.
Growing up, you were always a willing party to my wild schemes and dreams. How you believed me when I set out to build a castle and moat, an airplane, a rifle, or a boat, I'll never know. But I will always know and remember how much you added to every one of those plans. In fact, I don't think I would have had any adventures without you. There wouldn't have been anyone to share them with.
You always had a special touch with people, from Paul's big bad friends to all the ladies in town, and for me. I think that's how everyone feels--that you have a special touch with everyone, including and especially them.
Dear John, I love you, and I'm going away to Kyrgyzstan. We won't room together next semester. You won't be turning in bed while I take late phone calls, hearing my latest political scheme, or praying with me every morning and evening. We won't talk theology for hours between bunks when we should be getting sleep, and we won't sit arm and arm at morning meditations. Believe or not, I could cry right now as I write these words.
I think this post has too much about me, not enough of you. That's what you're so good at doing to people, and the influence is even spilling into my blog. For two years at college, you were there for me as I focused on my challenges. I've never adequately paid the due I owe for such selfless love, nor will I ever fully pay, for what you gave was priceless. I love you John. I really do.
But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you. 
