The Worker Aunt

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. The year 2001 was a blessing and a curse, not just because of 9/11. It was the year I got married and the year I had my first miscarriage.

The loss was followed by two more within a couple of years. I had no baby. I was in my late thirties, and my window of opportunity was closing. I was getting older, and the risks of Down syndrome and birth defects were increasing year by year. You see, women’s eggs age with them. As eggs age, they can become less viable. No one ever tells you that in sex ed. They also don’t teach you that, as a woman, you are born with a set number of eggs. No more. Unlike sperm, which produce 300 million per day, we get one egg per month, and that lasts until we run out. When we run out is not the same for every woman. Also, some women release two eggs at a time, resulting in fraternal twins. I was 33.

I wanted a baby with this man, whom I had married. I had never wanted one before, but I knew he was the right man and would be a great dad. Each miscarriage brought deeper despair.

I remember crying on the phone with my family. There was nothing anyone could do or suggest to ease my emptiness, except for my aunt.

She lived half a nation away from me for most of my life. Before that, she lived half a world away. I did not grow up with her on a daily basis. I did not know her, per se, as someone with family close by in a neighboring town knows an aunt. We were strangers. But that is not how Latins do family. We are in each other’s business constantly, and we bleed for one another, no ifs, ands, or buts. We may fight and estrange ourselves, but when push comes to shove, we circle the wagons.

She spoke with me every time I became pregnant and each time I lost a baby. She comforted me in the only way she could. She prayed. I am a woman of faith, and that meant something special to me. It gave me comfort and eased my grieving, aching spirit. I can’t even count the days I spent on the phone with her in tears, her soothing my wounds with verses and biblical truths. She helped me come to terms with the fact that maybe this was not in the cards for us, and that was okay. She filled the void with her loving prayers. I’ll never be able to fully explain to her what that meant to me then.

I finally gave up. I accepted that I would not have a baby, and we stopped trying. And then it happened. I got pregnant again. I was scared and happy at the same time, but I truly felt this would be like all the other failed attempts.

I took this pregnancy differently from the others. I told no one. Well, almost no one. I told my husband, naturally, but we agreed not to tell anyone else.

When we reached the third trimester, I told a couple of people and called my aunt. I had spent the first two trimesters with weekly doctor’s visits at the perinatologist’s office. I was getting weekly ultrasounds because I was considered very high risk. I have an album of my son's entire life in utero. I called my aunt before I called anyone else.

I gave her the news, and she was so thrilled for me.

That is when she told me the thing that surprised me most. She said she had never stopped praying. Never. Stopped. Praying. Those words still bring tears to my eyes. My son is healthy, brilliant, and independent at twenty. He is a true blessing.

Her words shocked me. I had given up. She had not. I had stopped praying for a son. She had not. To me, that was the most loving thing anyone had ever done for me. She didn’t give up hope when I did.

My aunt is one of the few in my family who understands my faith. She had the same faith, perhaps a bit deeper, because she never stopped praying for me. My faith and constancy fell short in that respect.

Over the years, we have often spoken about that time in my life. I hope I never fail to show her appreciation for her whispered prayers to God. She reached me in a way no one else did, and I love her for that.

Sometimes the surprise isn’t that a family member loves you. They should; they are family. The surprise is when it’s not a close relative. The shock was the level of commitment and the understanding of what a child meant to me, revealing the depth of her love. Every time I speak with or see my son, I see evidence of that love.

#lifelessons #life #family #love #relationships #writer #hope #inspirational

Please subscribe

(Published On Medium by No Time, May 2026)

If you enjoyed this story, why not read another?

Catch me on Patreon, Substack, Beehiiv, Medium, Vocal, Wattpad, or WordPress. Dealer’s choice! Check me out on Social Media too via Linktree or my website, Ink and Echo. And if you’d like to support my coffee habit, you can do that on Ko-fi too.