“When I was 25, my younger brother received a cancer diagnosis after one week of feeling unwell. Three weeks later he died with me and our parents by his bedside. He was 23. I have always described the grief I felt (and still feel) as having a hole in my insides. When it first happened and for a long while afterwards, this hole was dark and all encompassing. I couldn’t function and felt it was part of my identity and always would be. As time has rolled on, this hole has shrunk, but it will never heal. It also opens up again from time to time. Writing this, I am sobbing, even though it’s been over 25 years since he left.
In my experience, there’s not only the grieving for the person who’s gone, but also for the life they didn’t get to lead. I went on to have two children and my brother would have been such an amazing uncle to them.”
Anonymous