As we headed towards the end of October 2002, I had a brainwave - a Halloween party! Finns don't really celebrate Halloween. In fact, in a really bizarre way, they dress us witches, ghouls and goblins and go trick-or-treating at Easter Time!
Anyway, with the idea in place, I organised some decorations, a menu and entertainment. We would do the bobbing apples in a bucket of water game. Bree would make a cake in Helsinki and I would organise some savouries. And the music would work itself out.
During the last week of October, I headed to the office as usual. Just before lunchtime, the phone rang. It was my father and he was crying. He was trying to tell me something so I told him to pass me over to Mum. He did. Ever the stronger out of the two, my mother called me to tell me that my sister had lost the baby she had carrying for more than 8 and a half months. Apparently, the baby's heart just stopped beating and my sister had been sent home, waiting for a time when the baby would be delivered. You see, because the baby had been carried to term, she was too large to miscarry.
As I listened to the tragedy that was unfolding at the other end of the phone, I cried, but not for the loss of what would have been my first niece or nephew, but for my sister. Until this tragedy, my sister had never been to a hospital for any treatment whatsoever and this seemed just cruel. For the rest of the day, I just felt numb. I couldn't concentrate on my work and there was no point leaving the office. After all, what would I do except worry even more 2,000 miles away from the tragedy itself?
After work, I visited my neighbour and told her the news. She was mortified and, as I got upset once more, she comforted me. Whilst I was there, my Mother called to give me an update. Apparently, my sister would be going back into hospital on Halloween and the birth would be induced. I asked why she had to keep the baby inside over the next couple of days. Apparently, to prevent infection and to assess the cause, they needed the baby to remain in place. How awful this must have been for my sister, I thought.
Still in Finland, my sister 'gave birth' to my first neice on Halloween. She will always be the first neice. By law, she had been carried to term and, despite her death, would be treated as a human being. When I heard that there would be a funeral, I cringed. Believe it or not, I had not yet been to a funeral and the thought of going to the funeral of a baby just rocked me. It was discovered that the umbilical cord had wrapped itself around the baby's neck, slowly cutting off her oxygen supply. There was a lot of speculation that, even if she had been born a few days earlier, she may have suffered from development problems anyhow as it was not known how long the cord had been there. In fact, according to my Mother, the baby was very small.
The day after Halloween is known as All Saint's Day and is a public holiday in Finland so, on Halloween itself (a Thursday), the twenty or so invitees arrived at my home one by one. Visibly upset from the tragedy, I felt that the show had to go on. My friend JP arrived first, helping me to organise my apartment and get the hot food underway. I am totally useless in the kitchen and, annoyed by my looking for instructions on how long to cook chicken, JP took over! My neighbour came by, offering additional dishes and chairs.
The evening was enjoyed by all, but by 11pm, everyone had left except for Bree, JP and I. When I tidied the place up, we toasted to the neice who wasn't meant to be.
Over the next couple of days, I found the time to write a poem in memory of my niece, before flying to the UK for the funeral. At my sister's request, I read out the poem during the funeral service which I reproduce here:
"The shock is passing, the anger now alive Had you been born earlier, you might have survived We could spend days, weeks, months, even years Wondering what might have been, drowning in tears But what we must remember, amid all of this The two parents-to-be and the loss of their kid And a family united, stricken with grief Still in shock, full of disbelief A life should be lived, before it's taken away You hadn't been with us for even a day Yet deep in our hearts, deep down within You will always be considered one of our kin In a changing world, full or danger and of war Life is taken for granted, that much we know for sure The irony is there is no justice in this You've been gone just a day and already you're missedFor eight quick months, you laid in her womb For eight short months, we experienced a boom Peaks of excitement, moments of joy and of hope When I heard the news, I thought it was some sick joke We have to accept you're gone and time will heal You've gone before the memory of you ever will One thing for sure, and I want you to know You'll be there in my heart wherever I go. I love you…even though I never met you. Your Uncle" Reading the poem took what felt like a lifetime. I remember looking down at my sister from the podium, her bloodshot eyes spurring me on to the end. Even then, during the funeral service, my sister was thinking of others. When I returned to my seat next to my other sister, I broke down. The poem and publicly expressing my deep sorrow really helped me to come to terms with the loss. Our thoughts were now on putting the mother and father back together again.
Who would have thought that, one year and five days after the birth of my first niece that the second neice would arrive! What a joyous day that was. My neice is now over two years old and she is the bubbliest, cheekiest and most adorable little girl I have met. When she is older and she learns that she had a sister who didn't live, she will know just how special she is. And, believe me, some things are worth waiting for!
Come November 2002, my neighbour and I had known eachother a year and she knew about Bree and I; after Bree returned to Helsinki one Sunday evening after a visit to Tampere, I invited her up for 'tea and biscuit´s' and built up to coming out to her. 
