Over the years, psychologists have written reams of reports about middle child syndrome, and the problems of growing up with older and younger siblings. My problem was a little different.
A couple years before I was born, and after several miscarriages, my mother gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. I’ve seen pictures, and beautiful is not an understatement – she was one of the prettiest babies I’ve ever seen. They named her Dana Lynne.
Everybody and his brother came to see them in the hospital, and someone gave her a cold, which developed into pneumonia. She died before she ever left the hospital.
When I came along, I was loved and cherished and spoiled rotten, but my mother always continued to mourn that perfect little girl. It’s hard to compete with someone who died before they ever had a chance to do anything wrong.
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