SodySpokes

Alex’s Funeral Address
July 15, 2008
Written and delivered by Olivia Soderborg

As I was looking around and noticing all of the people dressed in orange yesterday and today, I am reminded of a letter I received from Alex last Christmas while I was on my mission. He said, “Besides baptisms, retention, and money what do you want for Christmas? Remember if it’s clothes we’ll need sizes for tops and bottoms. Now don’t get weird, I can pick out good lookin’ stuff. I just don’t choose to.” I’m sure if Alex could have chosen something to wear to for this occasion, it would have been something orange.

PEACE
When I found out about Alex’s death I had feelings similar to those described in this passage from first Kings when the Lord speaks to Elijah on Mt. Horeb:
“And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire: but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.” (1 Kings 19:11-12)
When I heard about Alex’s motorcycle accident, I felt like a great wind had rent my mountains and that there was an earthquake and fire that threatened to consume me…and after all that, as we opened the scriptures and knelt in family prayer, I felt the still, small voice of peace that comes straight from God, who promised:
“I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.” (John 14:18)
Our loving Heavenly Father has not left me or my family comfortless. (Read the article)

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Eulogy
July 15, 2008
Written and delivered by Brian Soderborg

In a lot of ways Alex and I are alike:  We love being in the sun, we like girls and, we have similar facial features.  Growing up it was often said that Alex looks like Brian, but Brian doesn’t look like Alex; which is weird because I’m the twin. In fact several people look like me but I don’t look like any of them. I often took solace in this but secretly didn’t tell anyone.
Born into mortality five minutes and forty seconds before I surprised the world, set him apart from the rest. That was September 15, 1983.  For the next half a dozen years we lived in a little cottage of a house by Liberty Park.  It was a huge house until one day we left the windows open and it shrank, at least that’s what my mom says.  In our time at Harrison (we name our houses by way of the street they’re on) we would go on walks around the park for Family Home Evening; climb the gigantic trees in our back yard, these things were huge; sure the house was small but you could see these trees from the park and in front of the house and they were big.  Mom would put the laundry on the clothes line and we’d eat raspberries and apricots from around the yard.  Inside we had one bed for the six of us to sleep on, and so we did. At bedtime we’d all find a spot around the edge of the bed so as to not be by each other, in the morning we’d all be on top of each other like puppies in the middle of the loft. The one on bottom was usually the first one awake, not sure why…

(Read the article)

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