There are four children
growing up around me.
Four lives
that fill my days
with noise,
questions,
laughter,
and exhaustion.
Four reasons
to get out of bed
when the world
feels too heavy.
But there have
always been five.
Five children
who made me
a mother
in five different ways.
And I refuse
to pretend
that only the ones
who call my name
deserve to be counted.
You do not need
a bedroom
to belong
to this family.
You do not need
a seat at the table
or a pair of shoes
waiting by the door.
Your place
was never dependent
on how long
you stayed.
It was made
the moment
you became mine.
And though your siblings
will grow into
their own lives,
their own stories,
their own futures,
there will always
be a sister
woven through
the history
of our family.
A little ladybug
who came
and left
far too quickly.
But never
without leaving
love behind.
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