8 Things We Learned About Sibling Loss While Editing The Loss of a Lifetime (Part 1)

On the hierarchy of grief, continuing bonds, and why surviving siblings dread, "the question."

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Alyson and I learned a lot through editing and publishing Loss of a Lifetime: Grieving Siblings Share Stories of Love, Loss, and Hope. We learned how to write a book proposal, how to decide on an editorial vision, and, sadly, how to tell when a seemingly heartfelt PR outreach email is AI slop in disguise.

But mostly, we learned about sibling grief. We even created a webinar for grief educators, using excerpts from the essays to illuminate our findings. While each person’s story is unique, there are some undeniable commonalities when it comes to losing a sibling.

1. We worry about whether you’ll ask us “the question”– and how you’ll handle our answer.

One question that most grieving siblings struggle with is, “Do you have brothers or sisters?” It’s an innocent enough question, but we don’t always know how to answer it, and if we answer it honestly, we’re worried we’ll make the person who asked us uncomfortable. Many of us have even made up rules about how to answer this– if it’s small talk with someone we’re unlikely to see again, we might omit our lost sibling from our answer, but if it’s a neighbor who might become a friend, or a love interest, we might open up and hope we don’t regret it.

“When people ask if I have a sibling, I just own up to it and ruin whatever mood has been flowing. Knowing you are going to crush a vibe, feel someone else’s tremendous pity, and potentially being asked invasive questions is never something you get used to.” – Meghan Britton Gross, “The Best Grief Gift Ever”

2. We often feel like we’re at the bottom of the grief hierarchy.

The best explanation for this is that there’s an understanding that the death of a child is the most painful type of loss. And yet, this doesn’t in any way lessen the grief we feel after the death of a sibling. Who else do you expect to walk through an entire lifetime, if not a brother or sister? We wish there was more space to simultaneously affirm the immense suffering that accompanies the loss of a child, while also acknowledging that the death of a sibling is profound and long-reaching.

“The strange way we categorize things like love and loss, as if some relationships matter more than others, is never more evident than how sibling grief is an afterthought in our society…. The narrow space given to losing a sibling is in direct contrast to the intense connection and bond of siblinghood. The relationships we have with our siblings are one of the most powerful human bonds we experience, not more or less than any other, but different. Expansive in a way other relationships aren’t.” – Gretchen Kelly, “The Long Game of Loss and Life”

“After Matt’s fatal overdose in 2020, I didn’t know who I was without him. I felt like I Needed to put what little energy I had into comforting our widowed mother, and Matt’s wife and ids. Bereaved siblings, like me, are often called “forgotten mourners.” If there’s a hierarchy of grief, we exist on low rungs, far below grieving children and spouses, and nowhere near grieving parents, who suffer the greatest injustice of all. But I think about Matt every hour. Sometimes it feels like few people remember the thing about me that I can’t forget: my brother died.” – Jennie Burke, “As I Lost My Brother, I Recovered Myself”

3. Many of us continue to experience a relationship with our brother or sister. In the bereavement field, this is known as “continuing bonds.” For instance, when I find pennies on a sidewalk, I believe it’s a little hello from my brother. Others feel the presence of their sister or brother in certain places, or when they hear a particular song. Some of us write letters to our dead siblings; others experience echoes of them in our children.

“And then, a surprise.

My brother caused ripples among those who loved him.

His best friend had kept his water ski in storage for the last 29 years.

A good friend of my brother’s needed one, and this ski was perfect.

Oddly pristine for its age.

It came out of storage

on the very same weekend my parents

gave my daughter his college sweatshirt for her 8th grade

graduation– something that also hadn’t been touched in 29 years.

That summer, after all this time, his treasured ski

hit the water again, creating waves of its own.”

—Jennifer Hilbert Speak, “Waves”

“If I go to sleep at night feeling hollow or resentful, I wrap my arms across my chest and squeeze like a hug. I remember my funny brother, my aching ghost limb, my constant reminder. I focus on breathing. My hammering heart settles to a shoft, steady rhythm. I drift off to the sound of my own voice, reminding me Jennie, I love you… and sometimes, in the darkest hour, I swear the voice is Matt’s.” — Jennie Burke, “As I Lost My Brother, I Recovered Myself”

4. We didn’t just lose our sister or brother— we also lost our parents as we knew them. The untimely death of a sibling forever alters our family. As surviving siblings, we may feel a new pressure to care for our parents emotionally, or even to simply stay alive, in order to spare them more pain. Our parents might face new physical and/or mental health challenges as a result of the loss.

“While buying a sling in the baby department at John Lewis, I spot a heavily pregnant woman and her mother choosing a pram, just as my mother and I did, months earlier. It hits me how much I miss my mother, too.

Close as we are, she is, understandably, somewhat absent. She’s busy helping my brother-in-law look after her grandson, or caught up in the logistics of death, such as organizing her daughter’s funeral.

Often, I’m mothering my mother, reassuring her how amazing and present a mother she always was. That there was nothing more she could have done.” —Annabel Chown, “My Sister Died the Week Before I Gave Birth”

“As I got older, I became rebellious, starting at sixteen. My mom and I fought constantly, a bitter back and forth that never seemed to end. I was the only child now, and I was causing trouble, pushing my parents away, but deep down I just wanted their attention. I wanted my mom to see that I was hurting, that I needed her.

Fernie’s killer was never caught, and my mom stopped looking for answers. She simply said,“What for? My son isn’t coming back.”

She felt empty inside, and the only thing that had kept her going was her family. But now, with my brother gone, she didn’t know what reason there was to keep going. Nothing could bring him back. The painful truth was, all we wanted was for him to come home.” –Stephanie Gutierrez, “The Light He Left Behind,” as told to Alyson Shelton

Stay tuned for Part 2 of this essay, scheduled for April. Can’t wait? Buy the book.

With Love,

Lynn, Alyson and Molly