Second Child (Re: The Number 2)

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I am not a second child. But I should have been.


He was born in late December, the span of his life stretching across a few short hours before offering him back into the deepness from which he came.


I am not a second child. But I could have been.


Three years later, on an early morning in June, I wonder how much pain was mixed in with the joy in my mother’s eyes as she looked down into my face for the first time and remembered the child that wasn’t there?


I am not a second child. But sometimes I wonder.


It was years before I learned of him…I was 14, my grandmother had just died and as the grownups stood before the fresh grave, I wandered the tiny plot of land where our family has always laid it’s head to rest. I stumbled on the unassuming headstone with no warning and I stood, my teenage mind struggling to understand what my too old heart seemed to already know.


I am not a second child.


I have never known that kinship born of blood and common feeling. I do not know how it feels to look into the eyes of an older brother and find either friend or foe. I never shared the family trips, the fights, the tears. My family remains small. We don’t talk about it. Not in passing, not at length, not at all. I am not bothered by this. It dose not haunt me. It dose not distress me. But it has changed me. No longer am I simply an only child.  I am neither 1 nor 2.  I am caught somewhere in-between.


I am not a second child.


But once, for a few short heartbeats, for a moment of time so brief it seems barely to have been at all…I was.


**Lunchtime scribbles!  So unedited it will make you blush!  I'm not really sure what this is...but I've been thinking about it most of the morning...so here you go. :)  Hooray for my first RECord?? Eeep!**


 

Created: Apr 18, 2014

Tags: non-fiction, re: the number 2, story, prose

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