Freshman year was by far the most stressful and emotional year of my high school career. My mom and dad’s divorce still felt new to me, especially since it was not finalized until that summer, two years after they split. Our new stepfather helped my sisters and me cope; I was thrilled when he told me that he was planning to propose to my mom. The following day, while I was visiting my dad, my phone buzzed. It was my mom. “How would you feel about a new brother or sister?” She then announced that she was engaged – and pregnant.

We chatted for hours over preparations for my new sibling’s arrival. I already had two younger sisters, and we did not have enough room in the house or car for a new baby. Our family would finally have a fresh start and leave behind the dreadful years with my dad. On the first day of school, I was ecstatic to tell my friends the news.

At the first ultrasound, the doctor discovered there was more amniotic fluid than normal surrounding the fetus. My mom’s doctor ordered an amniocentesis – a procedure to diagnose chromosomal errors and possible infections. We were told not to buy anything for the baby until we knew more.

We got the results one long month later. The specialist sat across from my mom, with my sister and me crowded beside her. He told us that the unborn baby had mosaic trisomy eighteen, also known as Edward’s syndrome. This chromosomal error could cause major medical problems, such as low birth weight, heart defects, abnormalities to organs, cleft feet, a small head or jaw and mouth, overlapping fingers, and clenched fists – if the baby lived. My mother would have to have weekly ultrasounds to monitor the baby. She was told repeatedly, “It’s not your fault” and “It could have happened to anyone,” but that’s not how she felt.

That day we also discovered that he was a boy. I had never experienced what it was like to have a brother. But because the specialist told us it was unlikely that he would live, the excitement of this news was drowned with sorrow. Statistics showed there was less than a 5 percent chance he would survive past birth, and following that, a 5 to 10 percent chance he would make it to his first birthday. Although his chances were slim, we still prepared for his arrival. We stopped looking at houses and started looking for day care centers that could accommodate children with special needs. They were hard to find, so my mom told her boss to be prepared to replace her when the baby was born.

Then all we could do was wait. Often, I would close my eyes and wish things were easy. I often thought, Things like this don’t happen to families like mine, but I was wrong. There was no longer excitement. Only the friends I told at the beginning of the year knew of my mom’s pregnancy, since I rarely spoke about it now.

I attended several of the ultrasounds with my mom. I watched the baby develop and grow – slowly, but he grew. I watched, I listened, and I learned all about Edward’s syndrome. From the ultrasounds, I could see his feet grow in a U-shape, his lungs fill with fluid, his hands ball up, tumors form in his neck, his weight slowly increase. I could hear his unsteady heartbeat and see his facial features. If he lived, he would never be able to walk, speak, eat, or do anything for himself; he’d have to be constantly supervised and would need a heart monitor, since his heart could stop at any moment.

This baby would change my life. My family would never be the same. I would no longer have countless hours of bonding time with my mom. We would have to buy a new vehicle and a new home to accommodate my sibling’s needs, and I would have a brother who would never grow up.

December 25, 2011, Christmas Day, I got into Mom’s car ready to complain about Christmas morning at my dad’s, but I quickly learned that my mom’s labor had begun. Presents never crossed my mind again that Christmas day. She was only six and a half months pregnant; it was not time yet. I felt excited, nervous, upset, and angry all at once.

We rushed to the house to pack, and the only things I grabbed were a thick book and some comfortable clothes.

At the hospital, my family waited for hours. Finally my stepfather appeared with silence streaked across his face, and we followed. We knew what he wanted to say without him speaking a word.

My mom had decided to name the baby Ayden James. He arrived on Christmas night, four minutes before midnight, skin wrinkled, warm, and purple, two pounds, seven ounces, 14 inches long. The doctors did not know the exact time his heart stopped, only that it was beating when we arrived at the hospital. Ayden was passed around the room delicately so we could all see our new family member for the first and last time. Oh, was he beautiful.

After Ayden’s birth, I spent two days in the hospital with my mom and stepfather. When we arrived back home, we opened Christmas gifts in an attempt to bring smiles to everyone’s faces. What we did not know was how fragile my mom was. When she opened my sisters’ and my gift to her – a necklace with charms to represent each of us, including Ayden – her face flushed with emotion and she wept for what seemed like forever.

I never knew I could love someone so much when I had never even had the chance to meet him. That Christmas, I learned to appreciate the life I have. Christmas is now a reminder of this loss and of the brother I never knew.