For 妈Ma

I was 8 when I jumped up

onto the bed to give you a hug

I was confused when 爸Ba stopped me

and said, “Be gentle with 妈Ma.”

That’s how I found out

that I would be a big sister.

Together we went to Kmart

to shop for all the baby things.

I picked out the softest onesies

in every size to fit him as he’d grow.

One day, you felt a pain in your belly.

We drove to the hospital and

they rushed you into a white room.

I heard terrifying whispers

as doctors and nurses ran in.

Scared.

Helpless.

I cried alone outside the door.

Hours later, Ba came out to sit with me.

The baby was gone.

We sat together in silence.

A year later, you were pregnant again.

A baby boy - a second chance!

I imagined all the things I would teach him.

All the adventures we would have.

All the times we would annoy each other.

I would be the best big sister.

The second time

you fell terribly ill,

Ba rushed you out the door.

I stayed up late into the night

Alone again

waiting for your call

to tell me you were alright.

It didn’t come.

Hours later,

Ba finally came home.

He looked like a ghost.

“Ma lost a lot of blood.

She is in the ICU

where very sick people go.

Don’t worry, she will be okay.

But…the baby is gone.”

We sat together in silence.

On the long car ride to the hospital

I wrote my first song...

“Roses are red, violets are blue

You are my mom, good day to you…”

I don’t remember the rest

But it ended with “I love you.”

I was nervous walking up to your hospital bed.

You looked so weak

underneath all the tubes.

But you turned your head towards me and

gave me your beautiful warm smile.

My fears melted away.

Despite the trauma you went through,

your only thought was me.

You said quietly,

“I promise to raise you well.

To give you a happy life.

I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a little brother.”

I was just grateful you were alive.

You finally came home and I felt relief.

We didn’t talk about the loss.

We didn’t talk about the sadness.

We looked forward together.

Our family of three.

As I grew up,

I let the memories fade.

I focused more on our differences,

your limitations, my frustrations.

I’m so ashamed that

I forgot how I almost lost you once.

I’m finally remembering now,

allowing it all to resurface.

Writing this so that I never again forget

To honour my little brothers by living fully.

To never take for granted

My life.

Our family.

Your love.

You.

---

This piece was a very difficult one to write.

I have been holding onto these feelings since childhood but haven't been able to process or put words to them until now.

I shared this with my Ma and Ba. It opened up painful memories for all of us, but also conversations that we were never able to have as a family before. There were many tears, and I came away with an even deeper sense of gratitude and love for the both of them.

Although this happened many years ago, I still feel the shadows of it in my life. When I walk through a hospital, when I'm asked "why are you an only child?", when I think about whether I'd like my own children some day...

The act of reflecting and writing about this has lifted a weight I hadn't realized I was carrying. My parents gave me permission to share our story of loss with others. I hope that in doing so, those of you who have experienced your own form of loss feel a bit less alone.