No longer the eldest

As I write, the white noise of a large band of rain is cocooning me in my bed. It is a lovely sound, for sleeping; not so lovely for a scheduled long run and a planned move day. They say it's good luck for rain on your wedding day; I'm not necessarily of the opinion the same applies to moving day.

Nevertheless, the run will happen, the move will happen, as all things happen, regardless of the weather. Today, as I prepare to head from the Sandflats to the Piedmont, I need to pause and pay tribute to two special people.

My friends, Glenna and David, have housed me for the last six months. Housed me, fed me, listened to me rant, hugged me when I cried, celebrated my victories, and laughed and drank alongside me. They integrated me seamlessly into their lives without a blink of an eye. We were friends when I arrived, but we are family as I leave.

For the longest time, I couldn't quite put my finger on our relationship, specifically. They, like many of the friends I made moving into rural Wayne county, are several years my senior; but I have never looked at them as parental figures.

It was, incidentally, when my parents came to visit that it was illuminated.

They are the older siblings I never had.

I've written before about the universe opening itself up to me in this strange season of my life. As the first born of four, I've often felt that I lacked certain innate grace and understanding of family dynamics. My parents, both being middle children, tried to coach me on this. When you are eldest, most experiences are yours, first. You have (or believe you have) more knowledge of the world and want to share that with your younger siblings. You don't always see how small gestures and phrases can have a devastating impact. And it's not because you don't care. You just don't understand the complex emotions that go into wanting to please your older sibling but be recognized that you did it on your own.

I've long wanted to understand, so I maybe I could deepen my relationship with my two sisters and brother. 

In David and Glenna, that experience found me.

I've learned so much in my short time here - the deliciousness of root vegetables (rutabaga, who knew?), the time when silence is maybe better than speaking, the thrumming hum of exhaustion accompanied by the glow of pride when you've put yourself aside and helped pull something off.

Glenna is fond of saying, "It will be what it will be, until it's not."

This is not unlike Melina saying, "Stay out of the way."

Or the old prayer that tells us to "accept the things we cannot change, have the courage to change the things we can and the wisdom to know the difference."

Thanks, Glenna; Thanks, David. For sharing your home, your wisdom, your lives, and giving me shelter from the storm.