The Sandwich, Gen X Style

My uncle walked into my daughter's wedding in a suit that fit him better than it had any right to at his age, and I nearly lost it right there in the lobby.

He's in his eighties now. He was such a huge part of my life growing up, one of those people who just shows up, decade after decade, and you don't fully understand what that's worth until you're standing across from him at your kid's wedding wondering how many more of these you'll get to share. I hugged him a little too long. He probably noticed.

That one hug kind of summed up where I am right now. Both my parents are gone. My husband's parents are dealing with some serious health stuff. My older daughter just got married. My younger one is about to start her last year of college. And somewhere in the middle of all of it is me, still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

Nobody Told Me the Sandwich Would Look Like This

When people talk about the "sandwich generation," they usually mean the version with little kids on one side and aging parents on the other. Diapers and doctor's appointments, all at once. That's not quite my version, and I don't think it's most of my friends' version either.

My sandwich is different. It's grown kids figuring out who they are, some married, some not far behind, and in-laws whose health reminds you that the phone can ring with bad news at any hour. It's a favorite uncle you find yourself hugging a little tighter because you know what these visits actually cost now. It's grief for parents who are already gone, sitting right next to gratitude for the people who are somehow still here.

Nobody warns you that grief and gratitude can occupy the same Tuesday.

I'm writing this on what would have been my mom's birthday. Some years that date slides by quietly. This year it landed right in the middle of writing about weddings and in-laws and an uncle in his eighties, and it made the whole thing land a little differently. Grief doesn't check the calendar for a convenient week. It just shows up in the middle of everything else, same as it always has.

And Then There's Me, In the Middle

Here's the part I wasn't ready to admit out loud. In between watching my kids build their adult lives and watching the older generation's health get more fragile, I'm still standing here asking what I want to be when I grow up.

Decades of career behind me. And I still don't have it fully figured out.

I think that's why I've been so drawn to those personality and skills assessments lately. Human Design, High 5, whatever's next. Part of me rolls my eyes at the whole industry of it. Part of me keeps taking the quizzes anyway, looking for some external voice to tell me what I already half-know and just haven't said out loud yet.

I don't think it's really about the results. I think it's about permission. Permission to still be figuring it out, fairly seasoned and all. Permission to be the one who needs a little direction, even while everyone around me assumes I've got it handled because I've spent so many years being the one other people lean on.

The Both/And of the Middle

Maybe that's the actual lesson here. You can grieve your parents and treasure the ones still in your life at the same time. You can be proud of your daughter's wedding and terrified about your in-laws' health in the same week. You can have decades of experience and still not know what's next.

You don't have to pick one. You get to hold all of it. That's just what the middle looks like now.

If you're in it too, watching your kids grow up while the people who raised you get older and more fragile, and you're still not sure what you want to be when you grow up either... I see you. Hug the ones you love a little longer next time you see them. You never quite know.