The day my brother left on his is a day I will always remember. The day I learned to live without, and sacrifice.

“I wonder who will cry first? ” I joked with a little dread in the back of my mind.
“Why would anyone cry? It’s not like he is dying, we will see him soon enough,” my dad said scoldingly as we drove to the drop my brother off at the missionary training center. I couldn’t believe my dad’s confidence. How does he not even seem to be a smidgen scared of losing my brother for two years? Not to mention he would be in a country all the way on the other side of the equator? Why couldn’t I be so strong …

Tears poured down my father’s face, I had never seen the mine cry or even whine, he was the image of the man I strived to become. In this case, even he was driven to tears and this forced me as well as my younger brother and mother to break down. Through all this Jared, my older brother, smiled and joked with us. Even though he had the hardest challenge of all. He had to take two years away from family, friends, and the American culture in general. His smile made things worse. Knowing his strong spirit and positive attitude would be absent for seven-hundred thirty days.
We hugged and he walked through the “missionary only” door as I and my three remaining family members walked through the “family door”. That’s when the first tear rolled over my cheek. My family of five left the facility as a weakened family of four.