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The meaning of this loss changes—daily. I lost my oldest friendship, my closest confidant, and the only person with whom there were no misunderstandings about where I came from and how I became who I was.
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Today I had a (thankfully private) meltdown over something that wasn’t worthy of that level of drama, but it reminded me that the person I would have turned to—my sister—is gone.
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Your willingness to continue to speak of those we’ve lost is a gift. Please give it.
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On the spectrum of regrets the other bereaved people have, it certainly could be worse, but that does little to comfort me as I ruminate.
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If there’s an answer, I don’t fully know it. The sad truth in my experience is you take what you can and then learn to work alongside the grief.
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They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but what’s the value of two hundred short video clips?
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“…the spans of time between the timestamps left me breathless with painful regret.”
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Grief is pain. It is messy. It is unpredictable. And grief is countless times harder to bear if we’re asked to hide it away.
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This pain is not like the othersBecause this pain is mine I sit with itI feed it my regrets and rumination I wake up with it snuggled around my chestIt sits in the corner and watches my moments of joy This pain knows me intimately and strikes when I’m at my most vulnerableIt reminds me every moment
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It’s never clear which day will be a better day and which will be a sucker punch.
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Death rituals are a way to honor those we lost, but they are also for the living. My sister would have done the same as I did, and I am comfortable knowing that.
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I didn’t know what to do after finding out my sister was dead. No one prepares you for how to navigate the complicated first hours of receiving life-altering terrible news.
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That’s the Google search I made on June 14, just 25 days after my sister died. I already wanted to wear her clothes—many of them—but I turned to the internet to tell me if this was too taboo to consider.
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I didn’t expect my sister’s death to make me want to burn my own life to the ground.
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For anyone who has been asking, “Why can’t I remember any memories about my dead sibling?” Maybe you will find comfort here.
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I find myself searching for every photo, post, and story of my sister that I can find. Like I’m researching a biography I won’t actually write.
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I have some strong feelings about what to not say to someone going through grief.
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Eleven days after my sister’s death, sitting in a restaurant and hearing happy birthday was too much.
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There are lines on my sister’s death certificate that haunt me because they’re so empty of the reality that lies behind them.
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Unmoored Sister 