I am the middle child, learning early that middle means camouflage
I am the flighty one, only to be grounded by a devastating loss.
The giggly one, infecting those around me with my incessant laughter.
I’ve lost the most important gift of a young girl can be given - her mom, and have graciously been given a second chance with that gift – one I will not take for granted.
I am the image of my mother, same brown hair, same golden eyes, and same crooked smile.
I have been to the chasms that I let anger drag me down to, and to the high of letting it go
I am the ocean’s tides ,dragging the grainy sand out from beneath my feet, wishing that It would take me forever, that I could stay in the haven of its waves for eternity and get lost in the salty air that enveloped me for that one precious week
I’ve heard the sweet melody of a grandmothers loved ones singing her favorite hymn, “Victory in Jesus” in unison, letting the sorrow that cancer brought to us flow out with stanza, accepting that the memories will be preserved
I am hospitality, enjoying nothing more than giving to others the things they don’t have, food, clothes, a listening ear.
I’ve balanced on the precarious teeter-totter that is friendship and watched as my calculated steadiness was thrown off, sending me flying to another balancing act.
I have learned the hard way that it is NOT better to beg forgiveness than to speak at all.
I take comfort in the scent of my mother’s perfume, the sound of my father’s snore, the cackle of my brothers laugh, the clack of my sisters heels, the grip of my brothers hug.
The flighty one, constantly making new revelations that should be already evident.
The giggly one, finding humor in the mundane routines of life, spicing things up with an obscure observation
I am the middle child, sandwiched like an Oreo between the security of two brothers and a sister, defined by a dry sense of humor, tearing the rear-view mirror off of my past so as not to let it slow me down, looking forward to the future that awaits me.