There were three of us once. Peter was the eldest, then me, six months later, then Stevie, six months after me. We were the middle. Carol and Cathy were older, and Mary and John younger, and then of coourse there were the New York cousins, who were around, but not really part of us.
Cathy, Stevie, Mary, John...the only brothers and sisters I, as an only child, ever had. Thanksgiving, Christmas, backyards, swings, everything to me. I had an odd childhood...this was my only taste of reality, and what it might be like to grow up naturally and normally.
Stevie (forever Stevie to me) was my own personal still small center. He was his father, all over again. Calm and strong, and good and loving. The army didn't change him...nothing changed him. Whaat he may have felt about Viet Nam remained forever within him. What he gave back to the rest of us was love, in huge measure.
I will, because I must must, adjust to a world without him, but I hate that I have to do so. I still need Stevie at my back. And I am not resigned.