Farewell Baby Sister

One July day in 1975, a 6 year old boy was woken up by his mother. The mother gently said “Wake up, look at your new baby sister….”. The boy saw his younger, 4 year old brother already playing with the baby as it cooed. It was such a memorable day. That boy was me. That infant was Fatima, my new baby sister.

At 36, my mother became diabetic when pregnant with my brother. She could not have any more children. At the time we welcomed Fatima, I kinda figured out that she was adopted. Still, it did not matter, for we all loved her. She knew that. Growing up, we would shower her with kisses, hugs and gifts. Yes, she was spoiled. Fatima was also very loving. She cared for my mother when she fell ill, all by herself. Years passed and during adolescence she became rebellious. At such a young age, she had problems at school, became a wild child and eventually, she ran away from home, with child. That was the time that when our family was broken hearted. Our little angel left us, just like that. It was hard. In 1974, my Godmother had a household helper that became pregnant. I think my mom was visiting her when she told her about it. She thinks a cop was the father. My Godmother Pilar, asked the helper what she wanted to do with and she was thinking of an abortion. My mother without any hesitation, stepped in and asked if she could take the baby even while still in the womb, not knowing if it was a boy or girl and anything else about the biological parents. My mother would often tell me about my how my grandmother repeatedly saying to her that when the time comes and she has children of her own and someone close to her offers a child for adoption, to take it. The child is a gift from God and it brings good luck to the family. My Grandmother uneducated herself, was right.

When Fatima left us, my mother while, devastated confirmed that she was not her own child and eventually told us why she did it. Years passed and Fatima came back. She brought an angel with her that brightened up our home with love. Her firstborn Samantha made the last years of my mother simply “magical”. She was also my father’s bundle of joy. For me, she was the closest thing to a daughter I ever had. After my mother’s passing, Fatima settled in Palawan and had more children. She may not have finished school but she knew some things about family. All her children and grandchildren loved her immensely, despite her imperfections. My baby sister had high blood pressure. While in bed, she suffered a stroke and was already stiff when she was found by her kids. Fatima was 50 years old. I wish things could have been different. Though I am sure that she knew that we all loved her. Each night, as I light a candle and toast to her life, I pray that she may rest, peacefully. Fly to the angels baby sister. Farewell.