On June 3, 2026, the author reflects on the profound loss of her youngest sister, exploring the complexities of sibling grief and the enduring impact of shared memories.
On June 3, 2026, I lost my youngest sister, a twin who was nine years my junior. Despite her growing into adulthood, I always perceived her as the baby sister whose hand I would gently squeeze in affection. In our family, we affectionately called her “purkhin,” a Hindi term meaning ancestor, due to her deep passion for family and religious traditions. This nickname, while seemingly ordinary to outsiders, represented a sacred bond filled with laughter, tenderness, history, and identity.
The loss of a sibling is profound, as they are often the witnesses to our lives. Parents know our beginnings, children see our later years, and friends are privy to selected chapters. However, siblings hold the unedited manuscript of our lives, filled with family jokes, childhood memories, festivals, quarrels, and countless small details that never make it into a biography.
I have experienced the loss of a sibling before; my older sister, who was like a mother to me, passed away. In a large family, relationships often defy neat categorization. A sister can be a protector, critic, nurse, mother, philosopher, and friend. Thus, when one passes, we grieve not just one role but a constellation of relationships.
Sibling grief is frequently overlooked. According to the international support group The Compassionate Friends, grieving adult siblings are often referred to as the “forgotten mourners,” with society’s compassion primarily directed toward parents, partners, or children of the deceased. Adult siblings also require spaces to share their experiences and feelings regarding this unique loss.
The death of a sibling is not a minor loss. Dr. Christina Hibbert, a clinical psychologist, notes that bereaved siblings may experience guilt, feelings of abandonment, anxiety, physical symptoms, and family fallout. Well-meaning condolences such as, “At least she lived a full life,” or “You still have your own family,” can unintentionally minimize the depth of a sibling’s grief.
Philosophically, I understand the nature of grief. As a student of Vedanta, I recognize that life and death exist within the realm of name and form. The Bhagavad Gita teaches that the true Self is eternal, stating, “For the soul there is neither birth nor death at any time” (Chapter 2, Verse 20). However, while this knowledge comforts the intellect, it does little to soothe a broken heart. Grief manifests physically, tightening the throat, filling the eyes with tears, and replaying memories in the mind.
Our spiritual traditions provide a map for understanding grief, but navigating it requires action. A few years ago, I encountered a quote that resonated deeply with me: “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” This sentiment should not be taken literally; it would be heartless to suggest that a grieving person should not cry. Tears are the language of love when words fail. If we love deeply, we will inevitably hurt deeply.
There is a pervasive myth that men do not cry, which I reject entirely. Crying is not a sign of weakness; rather, it is a natural expression of emotion. Harvard Health notes that emotional crying can release oxytocin and endorphins, helping to alleviate emotional and physical pain. Suppressing tears out of fear of ridicule perpetuates a harmful stereotype.
Grief is not a linear process. The Kübler-Ross model outlines five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. However, these stages do not necessarily occur in a specific order. David Kessler, an author on grief and loss, emphasizes that these stages serve as tools for understanding grief rather than a strict timeline.
The Katha Upanishad offers a helpful metaphor for managing grief, likening the body to a chariot, the senses to horses, the mind to reins, the intellect to the charioteer, and the self to the passenger. In times of grief, the horses may panic, memories may run wild, and emotions like regret, guilt, and loneliness may pull in different directions. The charioteer’s role is not to eliminate these emotions but to steady them.
Healing begins when we nourish the body, calm the breath, comfort the mind, guide the intellect, and rest in the witnessing Self. The phrase “smile because it happened” becomes meaningful in this context. I cry because she is gone, but I also smile because she was part of my life. I smile because I had the privilege of calling her my baby sister. I smile because I once held her hand. I smile because our lives intersected in this vast universe.
In grief, our task is to remember lovingly and carry forward the positive qualities of the person we lost. If my sister embodied warmth, I can strive to be warmer. If she brought humor, I can learn to laugh more kindly. If she fostered family bonds, I can work to strengthen them. In this way, memory transforms into service.
Children should not be taught to suppress their grief. We must explain death gently and truthfully: “We are sad because we loved her. Crying is okay. Remembering is okay. Asking questions is okay.” Children can express their feelings through drawings, notes, candles, flowers, or shared memories. They should witness adults grieving honestly but not hopelessly, learning to embrace sadness with love.
Research indicates that support from friends, peers, and teachers can aid grieving children and adolescents in adjusting after the loss of a sibling. Parents should communicate with the child’s school if necessary, monitor changes in behavior, and ensure the child has safe adults to confide in. It is crucial not to pressure a child to “be brave” by remaining silent. Instead, we should express our own grief: “I am crying too because I miss her.” Maintaining routines—meals, sleep, school, play—provides stability during turbulent times.
For adults, several practices can facilitate the grieving process. First, create a dedicated space for active grief. Keep a photograph, letter, or any object that connects you to the deceased. Such items serve as bridges of memory.
Second, speak the name of the person who has passed. Many avoid mentioning the deceased out of fear of causing pain, but silence can be more hurtful. Acknowledging, “I remember her,” affirms that she remains part of the family narrative.
Third, commemorate significant days. Birthdays, death anniversaries, and family gatherings can be painful. Create rituals for these occasions, such as cooking a favorite dish, donating to a cause, or sharing a cherished memory. Rituals provide a container for grief.
Fourth, seek appropriate support. Other bereaved siblings may offer insights that outsiders cannot. Organizations like The Compassionate Friends provide online communities and support for bereaved parents, grandparents, and siblings over age 18. A grief counselor can assist when feelings of guilt, regret, anger, or depression become overwhelming. Seeking help is not a sign of weak faith; even the brave warrior Arjuna sought counsel from Lord Krishna during his time of grief.
Lastly, practice self-compassion. Sibling relationships are rarely perfect, and there may have been conflicts or unresolved issues. After a sibling’s death, the mind can become a harsh critic, highlighting every perceived failure. However, no human relationship is flawless. We love imperfectly because we are human, and forgiveness must encompass oneself.
Ultimately, the journey from grief to gratitude is essential. Raw grief may express, “I lost her,” while mature grief recognizes, “I was blessed to have her.” While the empty chair may remain, mature grief also recalls the laughter that once filled it.
Perhaps we never fully overcome the death of a sibling; instead, we grow around it, much like a tree grows around a wound in its trunk. The mark remains, but the tree continues to provide shade.
My youngest sister was my baby sister, my purkhin, and a vital thread in the fabric of my life. Though I can no longer hold her hand, I can still cherish her memory. I can still smile because she was part of my life. And when tears come, I will embrace them without shame.
The Bhagavad Gita teaches us that the soul is eternal, while life teaches that the heart still breaks. Wisdom lies in honoring both truths.
According to The Compassionate Friends, the journey of grief is complex and deeply personal.
