There are names that feel like coincidences—and then there are names that feel like callings. My sister’s name, Angelica Rachel, has always felt like the latter. “Angelica,” from the Latin angelicus, meaning angelic or messenger of God. And “Rachel,” drawn from the Old Testament, meaning gentle ewe — a symbol of grace, faithfulness and devotion. Together, they form a name that isn’t just spoken—it’s lived.
As we celebrate her birthday, I find myself reflecting on the ways she has carried both heaven’s light and human warmth through every chapter of her life. To those who know her only as a judge, she may seem formidable—a voice of reason, fairness and conviction in the courtroom. But to those of us blessed to know her beyond the bench, she is simply Angelica—a sister, a daughter, a teacher and a woman whose love for God shines brighter than any title could.
In the Book of Genesis, Rachel is described as “beautiful in form and face,” but her true beauty lay in her faith and perseverance. She waited, laboured and loved with unshakable loyalty. That story has always reminded me of my sister. She carries her faith like Rachel did—not loudly, but steadfastly. A faith shaped by our Presbyterian upbringing, nurtured by parents who taught us that service is the highest form of worship.
Angelica’s belief in God is in her compassion for the vulnerable, in her gentle counsel, in the way she pauses to pray before a decision that will affect a life. She has always known that justice without mercy is incomplete—that to serve fairly is to serve faithfully.
She brings that same moral clarity to her work. Her move from Trinidad to the islands was a continuation of purpose. The law, like faith, can feel abstract until it touches people. In the islands, she has given it a human face.
When La Soufrière erupted in St Vincent and ash rained upon the homes and hearts of the people, Angelica didn’t just send thoughts and prayers while in the midst of the disaster; she helped mobilise aid and support, reminding everyone that compassion travels faster than lava. That’s who she is—a woman whose response to crisis is always action.
But long before she wore robes of justice, she wore the badge of sisterhood. My earliest memory of her is not of power or prestige but of her small, warm hand clutching mine on my very first day of primary school. I was terrified—the kind of fear that can only exist in a child’s heart—and she simply said, “You’ll be fine. Just walk beside me.”
That was the first of many times she walked beside me. When our mother fell ill briefly, it was Angelica who became teacher, protector and second mother all at once. She marked my test papers, cooked dinner, prayed with us and still managed to study late into the night. Even then, her strength was never hard or distant—it was gentle, disciplined and faithful.
We grew up in a home where the Bible was never used to frighten, but to guide. Our parents —both teachers in their own right —believed that knowledge without kindness was hollow. Angelica absorbed that lesson deeply. She inherited our father’s calm wisdom and our mother’s unbreakable spirit. She believes, as they did, that faith without compassion is just noise.
That faith has carried her through the storms. I’ve watched her navigate injustice, illness and distance with the same serenity she brings to her courtroom.
Angelica’s heart is never far from home. She never misses my TV show Ask The Dr, no matter how busy her docket may be. She texts after every episode—a gentle critique here, a word of praise there —and always ends with, “Proud of you, Jo. Keep shining light.”
When The Emperor’s New Hospital was first published, it was Angelica who called first. Not to lecture, but to laugh that soft, knowing laugh. She reads every column—from the solemn to the satirical—with the same faith in words that she brings to the law. And in her gentle way, she reminds me that a pen, much like a gavel, carries both power and responsibility.
Her words are never scripted— they flow straight from her heart: gratitude for our parents, for Neela, for little Daniel and for the chance to serve. Her faith is not just the cornerstone of her life; it’s the quiet melody that holds our family together.
Living now among the emerald islands of the Eastern Caribbean, Angelica’s presence has become a bridge—between Trinidad’s warmth and the islands’ calm. She speaks fondly of her colleagues, her church, her neighbours.
Her love for God and humanity finds expression not only in the courtroom but in her daily life: comforting victims, mentoring young lawyers, or simply offering a word of encouragement to someone who’s lost their way.
To the world, she may be Justice Teelucksingh. To the church, she is a devoted Presbyterian, a child of faith. But to me, she will always be my big sister.
The poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once said, “Lives of great men all remind us we can make our lives sublime.” I think he forgot to mention the women— the ones like Angelica who make their lives luminous.
Happy birthday, Angelica Rachel—truly an angel among us, a light in the islands and a reminder that justice and love need not be strangers. May God continue to bless you with wisdom, health and joy.
