I was the Seventeenth.
I mattered.
The last among a throng of children.
Maybe not needed as much as I was wanted, desired, hoped for, welcomed in, embraced, treasured and above all… loved.
In a world today where children are expensive and too many are not necessary, I would not have lived. But I was born in a time when seventeen mattered. My mother had her reasons for having so many children. Maybe it wasn't always about me. But I was treasured along with the rest. I wasn't a mistake, I wasn't extra, I wasn't a burden.
My life will be over one day. What have I done in this world that made a difference?
I loved one man well. He mattered because I mattered.
I look at the daughters that I brought into the world. They matter because I mattered. Each of them matters. Each story matters. The love they had and have to share matters.
I look at the others I loved over many years. They also matter because I mattered.
I am grateful, more than most, for my life. I have a story not many have. I have a label not many have.
I matter.
I am the Seventeenth.
© Ruby Neumann
Poet's Note: Written for my Aunt Wilma on September 28, 2021. Today I got an email from her daughter reminding me that her days on this earth are numbered. I have thought often over the years about her place in her family. I am grateful for her. My life is different today because of her. I am changed because of her… so to me… Seventeen matters!
This poem is a look through her eyes.
Wilma Dyck passed away December 21, 2021. I will miss her.
