The Middle Space

No one really talks about this part.

The space in between.

Where you’re no longer the child who gets tucked in, but not quite the elder everyone defers to. Where your parents are gone, your children are grown or growing, and you find yourself… holding.

Holding memories.
Holding responsibility.
Holding emotions for everyone else, and sometimes none for yourself.

It’s a space I never saw coming, and yet here I am.

The middle.

Not center-stage, not retired from the work. Just standing somewhere between what was and what will be. Parenting while grieving. Grieving while navigating. Navigating while being asked to lead.

I’ve buried my parents. I’ve buried my only sibling. I’ve answered calls from lawyers and funeral homes and texts from my daughter on her way to her new job or my son as he navigates college. I’ve cooked dinner while wondering who will call next. I’ve cleaned spaces that hold someone’s scent, someone’s story, someone’s silence.

And still, by the grace of God, I’m here.

Some days I carry it all with peace. Other days I crumble a little before getting out of bed.

Some days I pray with confidence. Other days I just whisper “help.”

But every day, I’m learning to be okay with the truth that this is a trust walk, not a performance.

There’s no blueprint for this season. No checklist that prepares you for making decisions on behalf of your parents, while also worrying about your child’s therapy schedule or your spouse’s silence. It all feels heavy.

And if I’m honest, I’m tired.

There’s this part of me that wants to do it “right.” To carry everything well. To prove that I can be the strong one.

But God has been whispering something else lately:

You don’t have to be the strong one. You just have to let Me be.

There’s a softness that shows up when I remember my parents. My mom, always saying “Be good” when I left the house. My dad, reminding us to take care of each other. Their voices echo differently now.

Not louder.
Just… deeper.
Rooted.

They guide me still, in ways I didn’t know I needed.

And as for my own children, I’m learning what it means to guide without gripping. To support without suffocating. To believe that God is working in their stories, just like He’s still working in mine.

This is the middle space. And while I didn’t ask for it, I’m starting to see that it matters.

The middle is where legacy breathes.
The middle is where healing meets responsibility.
The middle is where God is quietly, consistently, faithfully holding me while I hold everything else.

I carry what they gave me. Their prayers. Their wisdom. Their faith.
But I’m not just holding the past. I’m shaping what comes next.

Because what we inherit is just the beginning…

Do not fear, for I am with you;
Do not be afraid, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you;
I will help you;
I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.

Isaiah 41:10