When a sibling dies, attention often shifts toward their spouse, their children, their parents. Understandably so. But siblings grieve too—deeply, quietly, and often unseen.
I was 22 when my brother died in a hunting accident. He was just 26. His wife—my best friend—was suddenly a widow with a 10-week-old baby. My heart broke for her, and for the little boy who would grow up without his dad. I missed my brother every day, but what carried me forward was staying close to his family. His son grew up, and now his grandson is 13. I love when he asks me questions about the grandfather he never got to meet. Sharing those stories keeps my brother alive in ways that feel sacred.
Decades later, I lost my sister to ovarian cancer. She was 53, with four children. One of the last things she said to me was, “We raised our kids together. Take care of them for me.” She never got the chance to become a grandmother, something she longed for. Today, she has three grandchildren. I adore them—but sometimes I feel a sharp edge of survivor’s guilt. She should be here with them. She should be the one spoiling them, telling stories, and seeing her children become parents.
This is part of the complexity of sibling grief: it doesn’t end with the funeral. It shows up years later, in milestones and empty chairs, in the joy of new babies paired with the sorrow of who’s missing. It’s not just about losing a person—it’s about losing the future you imagined together.
But even in that ache, there is purpose. I’ve come to see myself as a bridge. I carry forward their stories, their love, their presence, for the generations who never got to know them. I speak their names. I tell their children and grandchildren what they were like, what they loved, and how deeply they are missed.
To those who’ve lost a sibling: your grief matters. It is valid, even if it’s quiet, even if it’s overlooked. Keep telling their stories. Keep loving their people. And allow yourself both the joy of being here and the sorrow that they are not.
Because sibling grief is more than absence—it is a lifelong act of remembrance and love! 🙏🏼🕊️
Conversations with Carli 