I remember holding her in my arms. She was such a beautiful baby, filled with so much hope and promise. While I did not know where her life would take her, I knew that she would eventually be well. Maybe not immediately, maybe not consistently, but she would be well.

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When I was a child, I wanted nothing more than to be an aunt. I grew up with my mother and her side of the family. From her, I had five uncles, but absolutely no aunts. For a myriad of reasons, I did not have the best relationship with my uncles, and I just remember equating aunts to that of a fairy Godmother… something else that I did not have but desperately desired. Aunts were just “that special person”, according to what I saw on television and heard from friends. Aunts always said “YES” when mother said “NO”, they were often in charge of glamming out the child, and they were known to be the Designated Driver of Debauchery (D3). Aunts were the BEST! So naturally, because I did not have one and I was the youngest of five children, I wanted to be an aunt as soon as possible.

No one wanted my siblings to be happier and find love interests more than I did. Considering the LARGE age gaps that existed between my siblings and me, I assumed that I would have become an aunt in my teenage years. I was ready, too! I had teenage wisdom to pass on to my little niece or nephew, I had snacks to share, and I had a driver’s license so that I could be the D3. I waited patiently for my siblings to thrive in their relationships and have nuff pickney (“lots of kids” in Patois) so that I could step into my rightfully-earned role and thrive in that lane. Yet despite my wishing and praying, it wasn’t until I was 20 and my eldest sister was 36 that I finally became an auntie. While I was so excited for the long-awaited title, my sister did not reside in the United States at the time, so I still wouldn’t get to live out my D3 or other dreams with any regularity. I would have to make do with the intermittent visits controlled wholly by finances and the low-quality technology that existed in 2006.

But whatever- I was finally an auntie!!!

However, what they don’t teach you in Auntie School is that your relationship with your minor niece/nephew will only be as strong as your relationship with your sibling. You see, while I knew that I had a brother on my father’s side, I did not have a relationship with him until December 2009. When we finally connected, that’s when I learned that I had actually become an aunt by definition in May 2005 with the birth of my first nephew, not in May 2006 as I had thought. Furthermore, when my relationship with my eldest sister soured, my relationship with my niece, who already did not live near me, faded into oblivion. In 2011, God renewed my hopes of being that Auntie/Fairy Godmother when both my middle sister and youngest brother became parents. My newest nieces were born almost two months apart, and with both of them living in the same county as me, I was so sure that I would finally get to live out my childhood dreams. Again, no one ever tells you that your relationship with them is tied to your relationship with the parent/your sibling. ☹️

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Being the youngest member of a family that has generations of unhealed trauma put me in a unique position to always watch the sh!t hit the fan as my family scrambles to pick up the pieces. Simply put, my family is dysfunctional and broken AF.

As the years went on and my nieces and nephews got older, I realized that I had failed in the role that I had once sought after so badly. It doesn’t matter who is to blame; the resounding point is that I should have been better… I should have done more… for those who call me “auntie.” If being an auntie had been a paying job, I would have been fired due to gross negligence and dereliction of duties. There are many times when I catch myself wanting to wish away some of the fights that happened between my siblings and me so that I could have a fresh opportunity with my nieces. Or times when I wish that I had driven to SC to visit my nephews and make myself more available in their lives. I was so young- chronologically and emotionally- back then, and I did not know what I did not know. Hindsight being the perfect 20/20 that it always is, the relationships with my eldest sister and youngest brother (on my mother’s side) were beyond toxic, and the relationship with my brother on my father’s side was too new and had never been properly cultivated. That particular relationship also reinforced the fact that if the child and the parent don’t have a good and healthy relationship, the relationship between the siblings will not be the best either.

Yet here I sit. I am 39 years (and 3.5 months) old; I have a total of five siblings (two sisters and two brothers from my mother, one brother from my father), two nephews (from the brother on my father’s side), and four nieces (one from my eldest sister, one by marriage from eldest brother, one from my middle sister, and one from my youngest brother). Six humans ranging from 20 to 14 years old, all of whom I love dearly, and I feel like I failed them all at one point in time. In my active attempts to dodge the dysfunction of my family, I missed out on forming quality relationships with those who [probably] needed me the most. Where was their default partner-in-crime? Where was their less-than-a-mom, but more-than-a-sister compadre? Where was their D3?

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These were the thoughts that circled my head earlier this month as I had a conversation with my eldest niece. I recalled holding her in my arms when she was this sweet, fresh baby. It was her first trip to the United States, and I remember practically stealing her from the car seat so that I could hold her. She was so innocent- unfazed, and unblemished by our sordid pasts- holding so much potential for her future. I wanted the world for her! Nineteen years later, she was in my arms again. This time as a legal adult whom I had brought in for our first embrace of the year. Many, many small tears had fractured our relationship over the years, and we no longer stood the same. Even in this close embrace, the distance created by our harsh words continued to separate us. I closed my eyes, saying a short prayer for her while longing for the days when she called me “Tati,” which is French for auntie. Yes, back in her youth, I called her “Munchkin” because, although several shades lighter than me, she looked just like me (cheeks and all!), and she called me Tati, because French was the language spoken in her home. Today, her French roots are suppressed, and we seem like strangers to those people in our pasts, as time has grown so cold between us.

Still, that day earlier this month, I held her in my arms. She is such a beautiful young lady, filled with so much hope and promise. While I do not know where her life will take her, I know that she will eventually be well. Maybe not immediately, maybe not consistently, but she will be well.