For most of my childhood, my mom worked from home for a family friend. She often called one of her good friends, who also worked for the company, and their conversations felt endless to little me. I would follow her around, interrupting with trivial things. She was patient then, just as she is now when I continually call her with life updates.
No matter what happens—good, bad, or neutral—I want to tell my mom. She’s my go-to for advice, even if I don’t always take it, and one of my greatest cheerleaders and examples. While I’ve been in college, she earned her bachelor’s degree, showing me that it’s okay to take time to figure out the next step. Not long ago, I called her and admitted, “Mom, I don’t know what I’m going to do next. It’s kind of scary.” She replied, “That’s okay. Isn’t it also kind of exciting?”
Although I call her Mom, her name is Autumn—a fitting name for a season of change, abundance, and gratitude. Autumn is a time to gather wisdom from our experiences and reflect on how they’ve shaped us, just as my mom has shaped me. She has always taught me that I am in charge of my own path and that I have the power to create the life I want, just as she has created hers.
Beyond her kindness, my mom has a gift for balancing service to others while also caring for herself. She has always been a source of comfort to me and extends that same warmth to everyone around her. She has taught me not only how to be a good person but also how to rely on Jesus Christ—my Redeemer, her Redeemer, and yours.
Last year, my mom threw a Winnie the Pooh-themed baby shower for a family friend who, like her, had been pregnant during her last year of high school. While shopping, my sister found an adorable stuffed Eeyore. “Oh, that’s adorable,” my mom said. “We have to have that.” She puts so much thought into the details, always finding ways to make others feel loved.
I am so grateful for my mom—her support, wisdom, and unwavering love. She has always been there, listening, guiding, and leading by example. I don’t know what I did to deserve a mother like her, but I am endlessly thankful for the role she plays in my life.
MOM
For a while, I shared a car with my sister, and we both worked jobs that started around 5 a.m. Each morning, we’d get in the car together—I’d drop her off at work, then head to my own job as an early-morning custodian.
One morning, after dropping her off, I was waiting at a stoplight when mine turned green. I started to move forward but noticed a car still coming from the other direction. I braked just a couple of feet into the intersection, right before I was rear-ended. I made it through the light and pulled over, and the car behind me did the same.
At that moment, I was happy to know that my dad was awake and just a phone call away. I called him, knowing he would help me and make sure I handled everything correctly—since I had never been in a car accident before. Even from a distance, he ensured I was okay and that everything was taken care of. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve called my dad—especially with car troubles—and no matter where he is, he always helps to the best of his ability.
Knowing I can rely on my dad is something I don’t ever want to take for granted. He is one of the most supportive, patient, and understanding people I know.
During that custodial job, I loved talking to him on the phone. As I wiped down countertops and cleaned windows, I’d update him about my life. He works a crazy schedule, switching between day and night shifts, but I could often catch him on his way to and from work. Those conversations became a routine, something I looked forward to.
Over time, I realized that the way I talk to my dad on the phone became the way I learned to pray. He is very knowledgeable about the life of Jesus Christ, and the way he listens and responds with love has shaped the way I approach my conversations with God.
He values the little details and makes sure things feel cared for—whether it’s the grass in the front yard or the people in his life. I’m grateful for the light he brings into my life.
Dad
At some point during our childhood, I had my older sister Kyra write out the alphabet on a piece of paper. I traced each letter over and over until my handwriting looked just like hers. There were so many aspects of her life that I admired. Her favorite number was 8, so I decided mine would be too. She played volleyball, so I played volleyball. She went to church, so I went to church. I never picked up her love for reading as a kid, but overall, these weren’t just things she did—they became things I enjoyed too.
When she moved away for college and later left to serve a mission for our Church on Temple Square, I began to make my own path. Although, after I graduated from high school and she returned from her mission, we both ended up in Utah at the same time, attending the same school. Having her near has opened so many doors for me. She has encouraged me to take on opportunities I might have not pursued without her support.
Now, the things we share feel more organic. In Utah, we’ve shared not just pots and pans, but countless memories—nights spent in the Smith Fieldhouse watching volleyball games, trips to Salt Lake for concerts and Temple Square visits, and many summer days paddleboarding at our favorite reservoir, always stopping for a treat at our favorite shop nearby.
Kyra has seen every side of me—the good and the bad. Yet she still sticks around. I’m incredibly grateful to have someone in my life who knows me so well and continues to support and love me.
Kyra
I don’t know if this is a universal feeling for older siblings, but when I think of my little brother, I still picture him as the kid he used to be. The same little brother who helped me scheme ways to get a new puppy(which worked by the way)! Payson has always had a sweetheart, especially when it comes to animals.
But the reality is, he’s grown up—or is growing up, just like the rest of us. He drives his cool car and is working toward becoming a certified airplane mechanic.
I remember once being asked if I was sad that our highschool years didn’t overlap. At the time, I answered no without much thought but now I’d answer differently. We did get a few years together in elementary school, back when we lived right across from the back gate by the baseball fields. I enjoyed going to school with him, having someone to look for on campus. Payson is a person of few words—it takes effort to get information out of him—so I cherish the experiences we’ve shared.
I was happy when he let me tag along on his senior trip to Canada, where we got to see some of the beauty this world has to offer. He’s grown into quite the gentleman—in the most pestery little brother way possible. My life wouldn’t be the same without him. I love when he’s around, and although he may not admit it, I think he likes having me around too.
payson
This is my grandmother, though I rarely call her that—only when I need to explain our relationship. To me, she’s Keppi, the name all her grandchildren (and then some) call her.
For years, she has been asked to be the head cook at Young Women’s camp, a church activity where youth spend time outdoors, participate in various activities, and learn more of Christ. This is no small task—feeding anywhere from 200 to 500 people for nearly a week. But Keppi takes it on, year after year, with excellence. Months in advance, she plans menus, grocery lists, transportation, food storage, and utensils. Everything is always well organized in her signature handwritten lists on loose leaf lined paper, clipped neatly to a clipboard. That’s why it’s not unusual to see her floor covered with cantaloupes and watermelons. And it all pays off, many people come back saying their favorite part of camp was the food.
I think Keppi’s love language is food. Technically, it might fall under acts of service or gift-giving, but either way, she has a gift for making people feel welcomed—especially through a good meal. Her home is always filled with warmth, reflected in the countless stockings that line her fireplace each Christmas. But that sense of belonging isn’t just seasonal. Family has always been deeply important to her, which is why she holds the LDS temple close to her heart—a reminder of our faith’s belief that families can be together forever.
Growing up as practically an only child, Keppi loved being surrounded by family, whether it was her cousins or aunts and uncles. As a child, she played in the sandbox at her Uncle Guy’s house. She kept the sifter she and her cousins used to play with in the sandbox and now it’s displayed in her home along with many other treasures. She has a way of holding onto things that are meaningful, even if they don’t seem special at first glance.
That sense of sentimentality is something she has passed on to me. When I was a child, she gave me a bear that I’ve taken with me to many places. I consider myself lucky to have inherited so many of her traits, and I’m grateful I have her as an example to look up to.
keppi
Growing up, I remember riding in my grandpa’s truck behind the elementary school, with his sunglasses hanging from the rearview mirror. As we drove, he taught me that the sun always rises in the east and sets in the west—that no matter what, the sun would be a constant each day. He told me that knowing which direction you’re going is always valuable—both physically and spiritually.
His curiosity isn’t just about directions; he loves learning about the world, especially animals. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in the top 1% of Animal Planet watchers. He knows an incredible amount about all kinds of animals. It was fun being with him as he saw a grizzly bear in its natural habitat at Yellowstone National Park for the first time. He was like a kid in a candy store, looking out the car window so much he had to let someone else drive.
Pappaw has taught me several life lessons. Once when I was riding four-wheelers in my great-grandmother’s backyard he encouraged me to ride down a hill I had been afraid of for a while. With his guidance, I did it. He showed me what it’s like to face my fears.
He wants the best for those around him. Whether he’s cheering at a grandchild's football game or sitting through a play in a church building, he’s there. His support extends beyond his grandchildren; he’s always willing to help any friend or family member. Whether it’s painting, fixing AC units, or making the peach cobbler I requested for my birthday, he’s there to lend a hand.
I’m grateful for the wisdom he has passed down to me and for the steady support he has given me through my life.
pappaw
Grandma—or as my brother coined it, Grandma Joans. The name stuck, and now I switch between the two.
I don’t remember exactly how old I was, but when I was young, she took me to the local art museum to see a Vincent Van Gogh exhibit. I remember walking through the galleries as she pointed out that I was drawn to a lot of abstract paintings. Looking back, I think that museum trip helped lay the foundation for my love of art. She gave me space to observe, ask questions, and share my thoughts—even when my elementary school mind probably made some out of context comments.
My grandma has given me so many experiences, whether it was during a staycation close to home or one of our countless road trips to California. I’ve spent many days playing in the ocean or sitting on the beach watching her walk along the shoreline searching for seashells. And no outing with Grandma is ever complete without a stop for ice cream.
One summer, while I was in Maine, I sent my grandma a picture of my friends and I at the Portland Head Light. She replied with a photo of a painting my great-grandpa had done of that same lighthouse. Art runs deep in her family, and she has kept it alive, often having an easel set up in her house with an oil painting in progress. While I love painting, I’ve found myself more drawn to photography and exploring different printing processes(hence this project). She shares a love for photography as well. During Christmas, she decorates her home with several trees, but my favorite is the memory tree—a tree filled with homemade ornaments crafted from old family photos.
Since moving to Utah from Arizona, I still haven’t quite adjusted to the cold winters. It makes me sympathize even more why she chose to leave the cold Midwest for the warmth of Arizona. She grew up in a small Indiana town near Illinois, often visiting Chicago with her sister. I’ve heard stories of their city adventures, exploring shops and making memories. When I had the chance to visit Chicago myself, I couldn’t wait to tell her. I especially thought of her while wandering through the Art Institute Museum, looking for one of her favorite paintings.
I am grateful for my grandma’s influence in my life, from fostering a love for art to creating memories that have shaped me. Her support and sense of adventure continues to inspire me in ways I will always cherish.