I am IT

Anxiety waves wash over me this December 31, 2024. In years past, there was excitement, or fatigue, waiting for Rocking New Year’s Eve and gastronomic juices flowing, thinking of our January 1st good luck dinner. This year’s end is an exclamation. I am now IT, the last one. When my mother died, the realization exploded in my brain that being the youngest conferred the unique experience of more loss. I would be the last to die, the survivor, my fate that of experiencing more loss. I reached it this year. Here it is. I have arrived. I have no one to ask about a forgotten or dim memory, no one to clarify confusion in the youngest's memories.

The grief sinks deep, settling, smooshed, and covered like a pot, with no steam escaping. Anxiety. Anxiety confuses the grief, or is it the stuffed grief causing the anxiety? When my mother died, I said that I didn't want to be IT. But when she died, I was IT then, too. I was with no parents and was defaulted to the IT for my nuclear family.

The new year sneaks in as this day ends, and the realization crystallizes. A shifty shadow hovers over me, making me try to seek light, to unstuff.

In photos and memories, a gamut of yesterdays returns in endearing episodes and vivid echoes, making us wish for more time, conversation, and new imprints. However, I end the year slightly anxious. There is hope and excitement but a veil of apprehension and annoyance. The year brought the death of relationships, habits, and connections, along with the loss of relatives. It led to realizations and clarity about where I was undervalued and revealed authentic and genuine connections.

Copyright © 12/31/2024 by Andrea O. Corwin

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