Sara Beara

When we were expecting our second baby, I began to worry. It had been several weeks and I told Dad I hadn't felt any of those subte little movements, any "quickening."  Soon afterward, I was in bed one morning when all of a sudden I felt, not a little flutter, but a distinct, clear kick.  Surprised, I called out, "Oh!" And then, "Oh!  OH! Oh!" as the kicks kept coming. Sara had announced herself!

With Jo; in her "prairie blouse" K. Layton sewed in exchange for babysitting

Beautiful baby Sara wanted to be up and doing.  I remember in Alaska, pulling her onto my lap to hold and kiss her, but I knew she tolerated only so much and then she wanted to get back down and into action. 

She loved everything we did.  Once for FHE we planned a simple cookout out beyond our trailer house in the New Mexico desert.  As we headed out she carried the big bag of chips in her two-year-old arms and told me excitedly.  "Pam Home Eben!  Pun!  Pun!"

She was central to most of what we did.  In the midst of my being a mother, she was my right hand. Even while she was still young, I knew I could count on her and that things would go well when she was in charge. At the same time, we were always looking to see what she needed because we trusted her.

Rachel was wonderful with the little babies, but once they were walking, Sara took over.  And Rachel didn't seem to mind that we would give Sara  responsibilities.

The girls talked.  From the time they were little, we could hear their voices at night in bed.  Sometimes we had to tell them to stop talking and go to sleep.  They would laugh a lot.  Really, they were best friends. They shared almost everything, including other friends.  They worked, giggled, gossiped, learned from each other.  Of course there were squabbles--some intense.  But they always found their way back to each other in time.

 

Like most older siblings, Sara helped pave the way for the younger ones who followed. 

Dad and I loved and admired her. Her energy buoyed us both up.  She had good ideas but was practical about them.  She had creative ideas, but she made sure they would work.

It was tender for us the day we dropped her off at BYU.  We knew she was restless at home and ready to move on to bigger and better things, so on the one hand we were happy.  It was our anniversary, August 24, and there we were, leaving our vibrant daughter at school where we hoped she would thrive.

After we said goodbye, Dad and I were quiet.  We stopped at Maverick on our way out of Provo and bought hot dogs--our anniversary celebration.  I had to smile.  We were content because we were happy for Sara, but all the way back home we quietly grieved at the parting, the distance.  Our girl.  

Si amazed at all she had done since being married.  I love you, Sara.