Everything, Nothing, and I'm a Middle Child

I imagine them all throwing their heads back, laughing uproariously at memories.

They're out at a late dinner, celebrating Nathan and Ingrida, who are getting married tomorrow.

I'm home, at my parents' home, alone with my sleeping toddler.

I can't believe my father has remained in their house all this time and can still put complete sentences together.

All I can think about is my mother.

I've been running, running, running. Chasing a toddler to avoid the pain, the grief. It's a good excuse, isn't it?

I can't avoid it here.

Nope.

I'm falling into a million little pieces.

And our damn AT & T phones don't work so close to the lake.

I'm supposed to MC the wedding tomorrow. It's a wedding, not a funeral.

All I can think about is my mother. All I can think about is my mother. All I can think about is my mother.

But I can't remember her. It's too big. If I remember her, I will definitely fall into a million little pieces.

I have to remember her sometime. Is there a good time to fall into a million little pieces?