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A friend sent me this.

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Happy Birthday, Bubs!

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Today my brother Austen would have been 24. We're only 16 months apart. I loved having a brother so close in age. Growing up I always had a playmate and a partner in crime when it came to picking on our younger two siblings, William and Anabelle. William didn't even come around until 1992, so for years it was just the two of us. And eventually we became 4 (siblings)... and now more... and our sibling love grew. But Austen and I will always have that special bond. For those of you who don't know, my brother struggled with addiction for a long time. Thursday he lost that battle. I can't believe it's only been two days. It feels like it's been an eternity since my mom (SMom, in this post) called me to tell me. I have amazing friends from school that took me home, packed me, booked me a flight, and got me to the airport. Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you. A little about my brother... Austen, "Bubs," was someone that could always mak
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March {in photos}

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Playing in the sprinklers. Lilleigh at horseback riding lessons. Easter. American Girl horses from our neighbor.  8 years and 8 balloons. Brendon and the girls camping in the backyard. Starting our butterfly garden. Adeline and her friends walking to class at PATH. Making pies with Tita. 
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I'm grateful. I keep trying to think of something clever or cute or sweet to start this post, but these are the words that come to mind. The Lord has continually provided me with sweet friendships throughout my life, and I am grateful. This season, the anniversary and birthday of my brother, always makes me reflect on friendships. I had a few sweet friends drive in from Dallas to be with my in Houston after Austen died. And I had many of my Houston friends, from growing up, show up to help and comfort and off condolences. Not to mention, many of Austen's friends were my friends, and my friends, his friends. Regardless, I was in awe at how the Lord prompted these sweet friends in their words, their actions, their showing up, when we needed them. In the months before Austen died, I had been in a season of desperation and loneliness. I was 25 years old and in my third and final year of graduate school. I had graduated from SMU three years prior and gotten married. Going into g
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