“Are you pregnant?” This was the message I sent Abi, my sister, in May 2024. Mind you, I already knew the answer but I couldn’t believe she was hiding something like that from me. Did she not think I’d find out at some point? She responded, “I’m not sure, maybe.” After some back and forth, she told me that she was. My initial reaction was shock then came the questions; are you ready for a child, will you have paternal support, do you realise your life will change completely, etc. I mean, how could I not ask? After all, I was an older brother to a younger sister. 

She expressed her fears and concerns to me which caused me to panic but also to find ways to help her feel better and comfortable about whatever decision she chose to make. I wasn’t happy about the situation but it wasn’t mine to be happy or even sad about. I still saw her as that 9 month old I was so happy to see every time I returned from school. That 6 year old I took pictures of at her basic school graduation. That 12 year old I saw graduate from primary school. You get the picture. Accepting this would mean finally coming to grips with the fact that she was no longer a child and was capable of making her own grown woman decisions. Whew! A reality check indeed. 

The shock and panic faded. I was either going to be supportive as an older brother or not. I chose the former. “I will not be expected to bear any responsibility for your child,” is what I said. “I’ll be help how and when I can if the need arose but do not have any expectations of me.” My sister didn’t quite understand my position as she thought I would be distant. However, that couldn’t be further from the case. I wanted to establish a boundary from the onset, so that nothing was ever misconstrued. I wasn’t aware of her relationship status, so I wanted her to understand this was going to be her responsibility. 

We were now in a good place after a plethora of messages. I was looking forward to being an uncle. She would share pictures of her ultrasound and videos of her bump as it grew. She was preparing for motherhood and our mother, a grandma. 

I would tell my friends how I was now excited for her. The fears went away as I grew confident in her abilities to undertake this next chapter of her life. My little sister was going to be a mother. 

It was November 2024 that I made plans to visit Jamaica. I recall Abi texting me a week before I was meant to arrive that she didn’t feel well. I want to say it was a Wednesday. She went to the her doctor and was told she was all right however, she had more amniotic fluid around her baby than was the norm. This upset me because she had just done her routine check up and somehow nothing wasn’t detected. 

The following Sunday I received a text that her water had broken and she was now admitted into the hospital. This would have been great news otherwise but this meant the baby was coming earlier than expected. I then learnt that she wasn’t in labour yet and the doctors would try to keep the baby in the womb for a little longer. I had no clue this was done on occasion. I was worried but I couldn’t share this with my sister nor mother. 

I went to Jamaica as quickly as I could to welcome the little one and be there for support. Thankfully I was there. 

On 1 December 2024, I went to the hospital to see my sister at about 13:00. She was in good spirits. I asked about the baby and everything was fine. I told her I’d be back in the evening to  see her after I caught up with my bestfriend. At around 15:30, my sister informed me that more of the fluid was coming out. I felt then that something was off but I thought it would’ve been taken care of the moment it happened. It wouldn’t be for another 3 hours that she was taken to the delivery/operating room. I’m sure you can tell by now what happened. 

My mother and I kept calling her phone to get updates but received none. Then at about 20:15, her phone was picked up by medical staff and they told us when my sister wakes up, she’ll talk. I’ll never forget the sound of my sister tearfully calling me “they said the baby didn’t make it. I didn’t everything right.” Gutted. Shocked. I repeated what she said to my mom and aunt and saw their eyes glisten with sadness instantly. We knew we had to rush to the hospital. A cousin of mine got her car started and off to the hospital all 4 of us went. 

We weren’t able to see my sister as she was still in recovery. The medical staff suggested immediate relatives get a chance to see the little one. My mother and I were the ones that went into the room where the baby laid. It was a girl. This wasn’t the first time that I’ve been around death but seeing a dead baby really is a different experience. She was so small. Skin already bluish purple. A head full of hair, bushy eyebrows. I want to believe she had all 10 fingers and toes but she was wrapped gently swaddled. I reached my index finger out and touch her little face. Cold. I kept thinking that maybe she’d start crying if she felt the warmth of someone who loved her. Someone close to her. Family. This is real life though so no such thing happened. She was gone.

How did this happen? Why did it happen? I stood in silence as my mom was ready to leave. She doesn’t really like talking about feelings whereas I’m the opposite. I took two or three pictures so that I could show my sister and couldn’t hold back the tears. How unfair was it? She did all the things she was supposed to do. Why?

As sad and heartbreaking as the situation was, I started thinking about what was next. Would she try again? Would she be scared to? Would she experience postpartum. Let me tell you, she did.

About 3 months after the whole ordeal, she was supposed to go back to work but something triggered her and she decided not to. Abi told me she felt sad that she was pumping for a baby that was not here. Gut-wrenching. She started feeling pains and numbness. I took this seriously because she had a c-section and I know anything can happen with any major surgery/operation. She visited her doctor to perform checks and tests. This was the beginning of a spiral that caused me a lot of stress. The first test showed everything was normal. A reprieve, I thought. She reached out to me again, stating she had new and similar pains. I suggested she did whatever would help and so another test was done. All this time, she was using that AI to work herself up. The results came in for the second test and again, she was fine. 

At this point, I was getting frustrated. I understood that she went through something no one should but it seemed like she didn’t want to get help. I suggested that maybe those feelings were mental and she should seek therapy to help. She refused. Anger. I felt anger. Why wasn’t she listening to me? Did she not want to be better? I referred her to a friend, someone immune to the emotional connection we had. This person then connected her with a group of women who’d been through similar situations. To this day I’m not sure she used the group. I do know my friend was very helpful and I thank her for that. 

Test 3. Yup, she did another test. Normal. Sensing a pattern? Anger turned into rage and I had to catch myself before I said anything cruel. She was going through something major. It hit me when she texted me “I’m just a sister, trying to talk to her brother.” She was right. However, I’ve always been able to help. I’ve been the one in our family to solve issues. This time, I couldn’t. I couldn’t take her pain away. I couldn’t bring her baby back. There was nothing I could do. Helpless. That is how I felt. A big brother unable to make it nice for his little sister. It broke my heart. 

The month of April 2025 saw her do at least 4 tests which proved her pains were not physical. It was taking a toll on me. So I can only imagine how she felt. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I felt like I had no one to talk to because the person I’d speak to was now my sister’s support. I get that it sounds like I’m making it about me, and it is a little bit. What my sister went through was horrific. The father, sad. But there were other people affected. Our mom. I just know how sad she must’ve felt but she never shows vulnerability. She had to stay strong for my sister. 

I messaged Abi and told her that I did not know what else to do help her. I didn’t have bandwidth to listen any more. It sounds extremely selfish but I didn’t recognise myself. I didn’t want to respond unkindly. I said to her that we’d exhaust all our options with physical tests, so she needs to go to therapy and have a professional help her. I didn’t want to hear anything else unless that was the update. 

May, Mother’s Day. I didn’t reach out to her because I was still upset. But also, I didn’t have the words. I don’t think many of my friends knew that my sister was pregnant, so wishing her a happy Mother’s Day would open up myself to well wishes on her behalf. Only, there was no baby. She was still a mom but I was not ready to answer questions. 

October came around and it was her birthday. I wondered how she was going to celebrate it. How could she? But life has to go on. It was great to see that she was able to be loved on for her birthday. I think this was one of the best, if not the best birthday she’s had. Since it was October, it meant that we were only 2 months away from the first year of losing the baby. 

We made a pact to get tattoos that honoured her child. My sister followed through but I haven’t as yet. Tattoos are crazy expensive in the US, so I’ll get it done in Jamaica. 

It’s been 22 days since 1 December. Abi hasn’t been with her baby for 387 days. She never got the chance to hold her baby, to hear her cry, to know her smell, to touch her skin. Why did this happen? She’d have made the best mother. My mother would’ve been the best grandma. I would’ve got the chance to be a better uncle to a niece that I loved without knowing her laugh. She never got to feel all the love that was awaiting her entrance and existence in this world. There have been so many thoughts but none that would bring her back. 

To baby Azariah, you were loved. To my sister, Abi, I’m sorry this happened but I truly believe when it happens again, it’ll work out. To my mother, I know you were looking forward to having a little one run around our house, home, yard. To the dad, I’m sorry. To the people who have been through similar, I wish there was something else I could say that would offer any kind of solace. However, I see you and I have understanding. 

This time of year that is usually my favourite. However, it has been a real struggle for the past 10 years. The hope is that it gets better. It has to. 

To Azariah,

With Love