Losing a Sibling: A Lifetime of Grief, Love and Identity

What is it like to lose a sibling? Well, it's like swimming without a float — you can do it, but it's not as sturdy or buoyant.

I only knew my life with Jacinta in it. She was 17 months old when I was born. Our lives grew together. I was 28 when she died. I never had to protect myself, she did that for me. She was allowed to call me names or push me around as siblings often do but, my God! If someone did that outside of our family, she would be the first one to ride over on her BMX bike and swiftly wheelie them out of my life.

The Void She Left Behind

When she died, I felt exposed to the world. Vulnerable to a part of me that never had to show up before, because she always did it for me. I didn't need the confidence to speak; she did it for me. I now had to find a voice, and I didn't know what that sounded like without her tone joining in with mine.

Losing a sibling brings a sense of unmasking. An unwanted unfolding of a barrage of questions:

• Who am I without her?
• Where do I belong now?
• Where is my place in the family?
• What roles do I have to step into now that hers is vacant?
• Where will I stand in our family photo?
• Are they her friends or my friends?
• Do they still want to be friends with me?
• Where is my place? 
• Where do I belong if it's not beside her? 
• Where will I share all of our memories and stories?
• Who can I laugh with about the mom joke she made up in our bedroom when we were six and supposed to be asleep?
• What will I do with the song in my head that she used to ask me to sing to put her to sleep every night?

The Small Things Are the Big Things

These questions may seem trivial, but that's the way a sibling relationship blooms. It's always the small things. Together, they are the big things, the shared memories. There is a bond there that cannot be filled.

From childhood to death at an old age, we imagine our lives together floating through love, rivalry, shared joy, shared pain, misunderstandings, disconnections, and reconnections.

This is how we believed it would be. There was safety in that. A sense of belonging, teamwork, partnership, and a bittersweet symphony of all of life's moments. The struggles and the strengths were felt and witnessed by each other. In place of this, there is now a loneliness that feels hollow and yet substantial.

The Secondary Grief

These moments were experienced by two connected members — members of a union. When this membership is broken, there is a sense of being outcast and different. It can cause a sensation of losing the person you once were. And in that, there is also a secondary grief.

And then, seeping into the field of bereavement, arrives the harsh truth: our parents are no longer the people they once were. Especially as an adult, it feels like our responsibility to help them through their deep pain and sorrow. They are broken too — they have lost part of their own birthed tribe.

As siblings, we feel the weight and acknowledge the full sense of helplessness. We have to witness this, knowing there is no fixing their broken soul. This can be excruciating.

Ten Years On

It has been almost ten years since Jacinta’s sudden death from a brain aneurysm. Even writing this seems like I am lying or making it up. The moments of reality hit deep. However, now, they are met with a sense of compassion for myself and my grieving heart.

How do I do this?

Leaning Into Grief

Acknowledging that the pain and emotion behind each interaction with loss is safe. It is safe for me to go there. It is safe to be in this. I had to lean into it. I learned that the thought of going to that deep place was actually worse than the moment of it.

I did this by breathing in and acknowledging.
Give yourself the time to be with your own grief.
Learn to accommodate it.
Notice all the feelings that surge through you. The confusion, the anger, the gutted stomach, the hopelessness, the love, the disconnection, the fear.

All Feelings Are Welcome

All of these feelings are welcome. They all have a place. One is not worse than the other — they simply are, and they are there to be felt.

That is when bravery comes in. That is your strength.
Notice your courage to feel all of the complications.
And breathe. Release. Let yourself go.
Remind your inner critic to be kind.
Slow down and let yourself feel into the emotions.

You deserve this space and time to reconnect with yourself.
Yes, you are different — but you are different with a strike of lightning now running through your veins.
Feel this light, this power, and this burst of energy. It is also yours.
It is okay to feel the light and the darkness at the same time. It is all welcome.

A Note on Guilt

As I write this, I am also highly aware that whilst I have lost three siblings, in this article I only speak to the loss of my sister Jacinta. And with this, I notice the guilt seeping in.

Does that mean I didn't love my brothers as much?
Does that mean their death did not impact me?
Why did I choose to write about Jacinta?

And... I notice these thoughts. I acknowledge them. And I let them go.
Life is complicated, and not everything has an answer. Just like grief.