That would make my brother number three instead of number two.
And what of the first trimester miscarriage after my brother's birth and toddler time? Was it a girl, a baby, a beloved child miscarried, then cremated, flushed, forgotten? Did my parents mourn the loss alone, together, maybe, not at all? Was she baby number three or baby number four?
My brother may shake his head in wonder, these women, their minds, my sisters!
My beloved sister now - destined, amazingly, to always be fourteen years younger than I. What if baby number three (or maybe number four) had lived to birth, would my sister be here now? The sister with whom I share joy and sorrow, silliness and seriousness, the trivial and God. Is she baby number three or baby number five? Is she my sister number one, or perhaps my sister number four? Two sisters for sure, born, bonded, still remembering, still wondering, still honoring the unborn of our lives.
My brother, God bless him, he remains in the middle.