A: In my last piece, I shared my experiences as the invisible child among seven siblings, with only three of us left now. Just after writing that, I faced a profound loss: my sister, fourteen years my senior, passed away before her 81st birthday—a Fourth of July child. This leaves just the two of us, and soon, I will find myself not only the oldest sibling but then the only child.
Growing up, I yearned to be part of the family, rather than looking in from the outside. Being the youngest often led to feelings of exclusion; one of my nicknames was “the caboose,” a reminder that I was bringing up the rear. I came to realize early on that catching up was a futile endeavor, and I learned to accept my place.
After I graduated from high school, I made the bold decision to move to Boulder, Colorado. I chose to live my life on my terms and make my own decisions. As youth often teaches us, some of those choices were not the best. Yet, through them, I gained invaluable lessons and regretted some experiences, but that’s the essence of being young, isn’t it? As we grow older, we reflect on our lives and ponder, “What if…?”
That reflection can be a double-edged sword. I ventured down paths that I could never have imagined, encountering life experiences and meeting people who opened my eyes to different perspectives. I am profoundly grateful for those moments. I witnessed and experienced America in ways that most might never see or encounter. Yet, I can’t help but feel that the America I knew is long gone.