Category: Uncategorized

Where grief ends and other problems begin

I never know anymore whether I should attribute struggles to the grief, or whether they’re normal struggles I would have faced in the alternate universe where my sister was still alive. All I know is I am hurting—a lot—and I feel like it’s starting to suffocate me again. The melancholy filter over everything is back, but I feel guiltier about it now. Like I’m not supposed to be this way again, and so unlike last year when I thought I could freely tell people, I am now trying to hide it away, pretend I’m okay to everyone.

Except I’m not okay. I’ve come home for lunch every day the last week to lay in my bed and sob. I’ve let my inner monologue spiral into a twisted, ugly mantra of how worthless I am, how no one should have to stoop so low as to even hear about my problems because why would it matter to them? About how alone I am and always will be.

Is this the grief? Or am I also have some kind of early midlife crisis now? Or am I just depressed (maybe even the properly diagnosable clinical kind)? Or—and my inner voice favors this one—am I just being weak and melodramatic and causing my own problems?

And the thing that keeps stabbing me in the chest every time is a single, echoing thought: I wish I could talk to my sister about this.

Does it get better? I don’t know, but you learn to survive

Three months ago I wrote to someone on a forum who asked me whether sibling loss gets better or easier. I had forgotten about my response entirely, but that person recently resurfaced and started that conversation back up. The answer is still valid, and my new self is still forming. I think that might be true for the rest of my life.

“I think the simple (but lacking) answer is that for almost everyone, yes, it gets ‘easier.’ I don’t like to frame it that way, because it’s just different now. I am functional again—there was a long stretch there where taking care of my basic needs was hard, my cognition was horrible, etc. (I wrote about some of that in my post history, if you want to look.)

“I think what I would say is that my brain, like many people’s brains, is designed to push us to survive, and that has meant it has learned ways to not keep the loss at the forefront of my mind. When each and every thought is not exclusively about my sister, I am able to live life, pursue things, focus, live. But there’s still a hole. It takes very little for me to slip right back into the sadness. I have made my own eyes well up right now as I type this and think about how easy it is to bring myself to this point.

“I still miss her terribly. I have built small rituals into my days now that are no longer conscious decisions, and therefore also tucked away just below that level of awareness. I wear a necklace with her fingerprint every day, for example. This used to be an overt ritual for myself that I would make sure I do. Now it’s just as natural as brushing my teeth or putting on shoes. So there are a lot of signs of the wound becoming closed with scar tissue, to use a common metaphor. Is that better or easier? I’m not sure. But I’m not in danger of bleeding out anymore. I am now learning to move the injured parts of me through the world with the encumbrance of the scar tissue, though. Every day I get a little more skilled at being this new version of me.”

I might be a worse person after my sister’s death

That title may be sensational, but I am less than what I once was, and I can’t pretend it isn’t true.

I’m way worse at responding to text messages and emails, sometimes taking days to reply.

I am flakier than I have ever been in my life.

I am lazier than I used to be.

I’m less hopeful that things will “just work out.”

I am more of a hermit than I was before. Not because socializing is especially draining, but the desire for it ebbs much more than it flows.

I don’t have a bow to tie this up with, that’s it.

I’m sadder more often than ever before.

I guess this is who I am now.

I’m still here, you’re still here

80 days ago*, I moved to an entirely new country on the other side of the world. That had been the plan since before my sister’s death. And so life marches on. In those 80 days I’ve lived life—nested in a new home, tried to start building a new social network, had my heart damaged just a little, done adventurous things I never would have thought I would do, and (at least for now) become oddly more comfortable with floating in a liminal space and taking life day by day.

It wasn’t until a week ago that I felt the draw to return to this blog and write. I think it’s no coincidence that a week ago I took my first vacation in nearly two years and existed just as me, Sarah, out in the world without the protective shell of chores or work to distract me. For better or for worse, I had to sit with just myself and experience what that is like in this new phase of life.

It’s hard to believe how quickly I’m hurtling through the “seconds” of everything—year 2, the second time doing ____ without my sister there. So much has changed, but also not as much as I expected. Some of the drama and bullshit from year 1 has restarted in year 2. The ever-present background noise of my yearning for my sister has not gone away, but I have gotten a little better at temporarily ignoring it. I assume I have changed a lot, but I can’t clearly remember the person I used to be anymore. I am not sure she ever existed.

But I’m still here, and I have more to say. You’re still here—on this blog, if you’re reading, but also in the larger sense. There’s something that feels very important about that, even if I can’t put an eloquent on the screen to describe it.

*Did I do this compulsive quantifying of lengths of times and distances before my sister’s death? I honestly couldn’t tell you.

For a moment it’s like she’s there

Sometimes I forget just long enough that I select her username on Instagram or I start typing her nickname in the text “to” field. In those brief moments of suspense, she’s alive again. Sort of.

But then it’s like that feeling when you think you’re on the last step, but there’s another. You fall—just a little—and it disrupts your flow. You twist your ankle, you drop what you’re holding, or you break down without warning because of a stupid cat video.