I’ve been a lot of things throughout my life: a friend, a partner, a student in school, an employee on payroll. But the first thing I had ever been was a brother. The first team I ever was on was with Chris, and, from the start, we got along great. My mom said Chris didn’t struggle to share the spotlight with me or throw any tantrums when I was born; instead, he was happy to meet me. That first time he took the swaddled mess of my tiny frame in his two-and-a-half year old hands, he kissed me on the forehead and proclaimed “Timmy” in his high-pitched kid voice. I’ve seen the photo my dad took of the moment – Chris is holding the baby me and smiling genuinely, even though he doesn’t quite grasp what my being around will mean for him. I like to think that this is our entire relationship caught in a moment on film.

     We made it through a lot together. We survived the early nineties alternating between the rat tails and mullets that came out of our monthly haircuts. During my friendless Fridays of early high school, he would take me to wild party after wild party so I could get out and meet new people, and, in return, I would cover for him in hiding the parties he threw at the house while mom and dad were away. Now we’re still there, even though the problems are a bit more complicated and always more tedious: a broken water heater, annoying coworkers. The unwritten contract we’ve shared our whole life has been simple: he’ll watch my back and worry about my well-being and yell at me when I sit cross-legged in chairs at restaurants, and I’ll idolize him as my hero and eternal role model unconditionally and without question.

     Molly, I’m not going to say welcome to our family, because that implies something that isn’t true. Mom, Dad, My fiance Kevin, and I already consider you a sister, a daughter, a friend, and someone to quote Simpsons episodes with any time of day.

So, no, I’m not going to say anything like that.

     Instead, I’ll say this: I called my brother a month ago to finish making plans for his Bachelor party, and we didn’t really get around to talking about any of that. We talked about a job offer in Denver that he had gotten earlier that day, and our talk bounced between two polarized truths: that Chris really wanted this, and also that this offer could not have come at a worse time.

     He had 24 hours to make a decision, and he wasn’t sure how to balance those two conflicting realities. The next day, he texted the whole family saying he took the gig, and when he told me more about it later, he said a big reason is that you gave him unequivocal support in his taking the job, even though that decision really only made planning the wedding exponentially more stressful. In that moment, I was infinitely grateful that my brother and best bud has found someone so invested in him, and that he has someone with which he can be so invested as well.

     I wasn’t surprised that’s how you reacted, though. It was just more proof how committed you two are in supporting the other in becoming who they want to be: like how Chris beamed with pride after your journey through Stevenson University and into your dream job as a graphic designer; how you were fine staying home during his weeks-long trips around world with any one of the 23 bands he was in at the moment; and now this, Denver.

     I think I speak for everyone here in saying that we can’t wait to see the people you both become in Denver. No matter what happens, you’ll always have a whole community here in Maryland, ready to welcome you back without any questions. We’re going to miss you both more than you can know.

     In light of your move, I want to invoke a Kuhn saying, passed down between generations. My Pop-Pop Donald Kuhn would tell my dad, who told it to both Chris and I almost every day of our childhood. It’s a saying that implores you to go into your community, new or old, to get to know and love the people around you. It’s an acknowledgment that the world is bigger than any of us can ever know, but that shouldn’t mean you don’t try to experience it. It’s a well-wishing for you in all your new adventures, but implies that we want you to come back sometime soon and tell us all about it.

     And, okay, maybe it kind of says you should get out my hair for a little while because you’re starting to bug me.

     So, Molly and Chris, I raise my glass to you both, and I say it with conviction and all of the wonderful meanings that come with it.

     “Turn off that television, and go get the stink blown off ya!”