There is absolutely nothing I can say to add to the words already posted here, so there is only one option left to me: to subtract from them.
Your forty years on this earth have given you wisdom, grace, and charity. But, others have testified to that. I feel my duty is to remind you where those attributes came from. What are the formative experiences that made Jen the person she is today?
I remember the midnight antiperspirant fights before I was old enough to reflect on where our make-shift rapiers had been. Our friendship grew on the basis that we were both night-owls and the only two children sleeping downstairs. The battles between us never hit their stride until after midnight. We developed a keen sense of hearing for the floorboard creak of parental footsteps coming down the stairs.
I believe some of the wisdom you gained came when our parents left you in charge when they left town. Sure, we gave you a hard time and resented an authority-weilding sister. It was our job as younger siblings to kick against the pricks. But, you were not all innocent. Our parents came home from one trip to a hail-pocked car that was never supposed to leave the garage. Another time, they returned to a son with not one, but two broken arms. What would you expect from a kid climbing on the roof?
(I am fully aware of the irony of me blaming this incident on you when he followed *me* up on the roof, so don't bother pointing it out.) I fondly think about my frequent visits to your apartment at BYU where--though I was just a lowly freshmen--I was welcomed by both you and your dear friends. You graciously offered Sunday dinners. Who wouldn't accept? You learned to cook in Italy!
This, in turn, reminds me of when I visited you in New York and found myself heading the wrong way on the subway. Your mortified face suggested that I should have been more concerned about emerging in the more "dangerous" part of Harlem. Or that somehow it was very un-New York of me to walk uptown through the neighborhoods. You showed me around, introduced me to friends, and helped me experience the city as tourists never can.
We cannot forget the discussions that kept family members at the table long after a meal was digested. Discussions light from one topic to another addressing politics, art, spirituality, and culture. These discussions were always argumentative, opinionated, and humorous...and usually lightly seasoned with cynicism. You were always erudite, contrary, and--if I remember correctly--wrong.
Your impeccable taste can leave some intimidated. You can add sartorial style to the most bland human being (I may, or may not, be talking about myself), and can pull an accent together for interior design with alacrity. Put in plain English, you can very, very easily spend someone else's money.
All of this is true, to be sure, but I would like to remind you that in your youth you delivered newspapers? Being a "newspaper boy" may not have anything to do with acquiring a sense of style, but the image of a bespectacled girl throwing newspapers out of a 1979 Impala station wagon at six o'clock in the morning can demystify glamor in a palpable way.
As a parent, I know of no other person who realizes that her effort to keep her young boys from playing war are vain and so teaches them the Geneva Convention. If you must shoot your guns, you must never turn them on non-combatants. Surrender must be honored. Captivity must be humane. And yet, when you battle your sons, there is no question who the super-power is. Negotiations simple; terms are dictated. The perception-of-power is power.
I do have a grudge against you. You have been an example of generosity, kindness, and charity. Whether in poverty or comfort, you have always been giving and open. I have watched you give to a stranger, helped an acquaintance, and exhibited concern for the needy. Though I refuse to do an accounting, I am sure that attempting to follow your example has cost me a great deal of money and resources in my life.
For this reason (and many others), I pray that someday you will get what you deserve.
