Becoming an Only Child (Sort of)

by Elsie Galitsky '28

When the last of my older sisters, Ava, moved away for college last year, my whole world flipped upside down. Growing up as the youngest of six kids, I was pretty much a stranger to silence. I had spent my entire childhood surrounded by chatter and laughter until the day Ava left, when everything changed.

In my house that was once a bustling city, I could now only hear creaking floors and my voice echoing through the hallways. It felt weird going from being part of a big, noisy family to feeling like an only child, and I felt left behind. I was happy for a little while: My older siblings’ annoying nagging was gone, and I could finally take a hot shower whenever I felt like it. But when I wandered through their empty bedrooms, I felt lonely. Their rooms were stripped of everything that made them interesting: the colorful sheets, the childish paintings that covered the walls, and the stuffed animals scattered across their rooms. It felt like they were never really there. My mom noticed I was feeling down and lonely, and we started spending more time together. We went shopping, got our nails done, and chatted over dinner. I started to see my mom differently, and I realized she was not just a mom of six kids. She was also her own person — a person I could talk to about life or when I was feeling down; it was like discovering a new friend in someone I had known my whole life.

The moment my last sister left for college was one of my hardest moments ever, but in return I got something much more valuable. At first, my world was filled with darkness like a heavy rain cloud, but when the clouds parted, it led to a new light: a closer bond with my mom that I would not trade for anything.