Surviving the Death of a Sibling: Living Through Grief When an Adult Brother or Sister Dies

by T.J. Wray

I learned that no matter how paralyzed with grief and sorrow I might have felt, society does not recognize the death of an adult brother or sister as a major loss. Comprehending this, I retreated into the shadows, a place where most other surviving brothers and sisters go to mourn, and waited for the sadness to pass.

dismissive condolences, offered by well-intentioned but sorely misguided friends, acquaintances, family members, and coworkers: “Well, you lived in different states, so you probably weren't very close.” Or “Thank goodness it wasn't your husband or one of your children.” And “Your brother/sister died? How awful! How are your parents? ” Intellectually, we may understand that people mean well; they're attempting to be helpful and to offer comfort to us in our sorrow. Yet dismissive condolences have the opposite effect. They make our loss seem trivial, and they also make the surviving sibling feel as if his or her grief is somehow unwarranted.

Surviving siblings usually end up feeling selfish and guilty for not being better sons or daughters to their grieving parents,

The sibling relationship is more complex than nearly any other, a mixture of affection and ambivalence, camaraderie and competition. Aside from your parents, there is simply no one else on earth who knows you better, because, like your parents, your brothers and sisters have been beside you from the very beginning. Unlike your parents, however, your siblings are people you assume will be part of your life for the rest of your life, too. In terms of the span of time, the intimacy, and the shared experience of childhood, no other relationship rivals the connection we have with our adult brothers or sisters. From schoolyard bullies to teenage broken hearts, from careers to marriage to dreams unfulfilled, our siblings have been there through it all, life partners in our journey through time. They are the keepers of secrets, perennial rivals for our parents' affections, and a secure and familiar constant in an often precarious and uncertain world.

Losing a sibling, then, can also mean losing a part of yourself, part of that special connection to the past. How do we learn to live with the broken circle that is now our family?

adult sibling bereavement is what psychologists call a disenfranchised loss, which in simple terms means that society fails to classify our mourning as a legitimate loss.

If, on the other hand, you're denied the chance to be with your dying brother or sister, for whatever reason, then you'll probably have a much more difficult time when you learn of his or her death. You are likely to feel, as I do, that you missed the opportunity to be with your sibling as he or she left this world, and you'll probably suffer a great deal of sadness and regret because of it.

The truth about sibling relationships is that no matter how old we become, how much we may change, how far away we may wander, or how infrequently we may communicate, we're forever connected.

My world had suddenly turned into some weird, alien place, and I felt very uncomfortable just living, as if life were some strange, bad movie, with an inexplicable ending. I was as close to my sister (my only sibling) as I am to anyone in my life,

Try not to listen to others who scrutinize your feelings or tell you that you should or should not be feeling a certain way. Feelings are not a choice; they are simply your own response to an event. Typically, surviving siblings in shock aren't quite sure just what they are feeling. Soon, however, you are likely to be deluged with a variety of feelings you've never experienced before.

learning your brother or sister has died often conjures frightening and upsetting thoughts and images. Thinking about your brother's or sister's last moments, images of his or her dead body, and many other disturbing mental pictures emerge in your waking thoughts and often disturb your sleep. For obvious reasons, this is an aspect of early grief rarely discussed by surviving siblings.

there were times when I simply forgot he was gone. I'd go to the phone to share a story or problem with him, and then a squeeze of shock, suddenly fresh and painful all over again, would remind me he wasn't here anymore.

I feel the security of denial slowly melting away, withdrawing its protective hand and pointing me in the direction of the dark hallway I've been avoiding.

most grief experts to assert that if a person doesn't cry and openly express his or her sorrow, the repressed grief will eventually surface in other unhealthy ways.

Although much of this sounds like common sense, in your present state of mind, meetings, legal forms, and nearly everything else may seem fairly meaningless and unimportant compared to what you've lost. In the greater scheme of things, you're probably right. Nonetheless, you still want and need to do the right thing—for the rest of your family and yourself, and to honor your sibling's memory.

First, don't expect others to understand the depth of your loss, especially those who are either incapable or unwilling to offer you comfort. Remember, there are many people who do not consider the death of an adult sibling to be a major loss, and so their reaction naturally reflects this viewpoint. Second, when it comes to grief, heed the warnings of the Voice Within. This voice, when acknowledged, can become a helpful guide through the confusing maze of emotions you've probably never felt before. Throughout this book, I stress the importance of tossing away the timetables and rejecting the so-called norms for con- ventional grief behavior in favor of doing what comes naturally to you.

Moreover, at no time did they give me that garbage about loss being good for your character or making you stronger.

it was my big brother who acted as the calming presence in my life, the wise voice of reason who helped me make sense out of the confusing and often tragic events in life. “Who is there for me now?” I remember asking God over and over. Even though I was happily married with three wonderful children and had a full and busy life that included a large extended family, many friends, and wonderful colleagues, I felt utterly alone in the dark sea of grief.

Grief is extremely lonely, and very few people can imagine the pain that desperate grief causes.

Further, it's fairly common for adult siblings to live in different states or even in different countries. When you lose a sibling who lives far away from you, it's more difficult for those in your immediate social circle to feel any real connection to your loss. After all, most of the people in your life have probably never met your sibling;

“I don't know why people feel like they can't mention it, since it's all I think about, anyway.”

Since the most common complaint among surviving siblings has to do with insensitive remarks, let's begin with what not to say to a bereaved sibling (or any grieving person, for that matter). Topping the list of things to avoid saying are such well-worn expressions as “He's in a better place” and “At least he's not suffering any more.” Along the same lines, I recall several people urging me to “Cheer up. Your brother wouldn't want you to feel so sad.” (Gee, if you shouldn't feel sad when your brother or sister dies, when should you feel sad?)

hated people telling me that she was in a better place. The other comment I often heard that irked the daylights out of me was “Donna [age 38] would want you to carry on with your life” or “Your sister wouldn't want you to be miserable.” Yeah, like that's supposed to suddenly transform my grief into a bright, sunshiny day.

Most people in my dealings have been the “Let me know what I can do” variety, not the “I am doing this.” I needed the latter. I also had the bad luck of not having anyone who would just let me ramble on about Tommy [age 36], our childhood, and other things. People just wanted to say they were sorry, give me a hug, and then change the subject.

Story topping is usually intended as a way to commiserate with the bereaved—to try to let the grieving person know you've been there—yet story topping usually has the opposite effect. Unless you've lost a sibling under similar circumstances, it's best to avoid comparing your loss to another's, thus making their loss really about you.

My biggest problem with other people's reactions was when they would say things like “Oh, I know just how you feel. My grandfather died last month.” I mean, excuse me, but your grandfather had a long life, and it was probably his time to die. My sister, on the other hand, was only 40. She had a successful law practice with a partner. She was married with a five-year-old child. None of her friends had died; she was not an old woman with little left to look forward to. How could they equate an elderly man's death with hers? Additionally, the feelings I had for my sister were extremely close; she was my oldest sibling, my best friend, and my surrogate mother. It is insensitive for anyone to think that losing a grandparent is exactly like my experience.

I just feel that people do not realize the e ffect a sibling's death has on the sibling left behind.

if you're really bothered by others who offer religious reasons for your loss, such as “Your sister was so special, God wanted her with Him,” you might consider using the stock response, “I'm sure you see it that way.”

If someone advises you behave in a certain way during your bereavement—suggesting, for example, that you really ought to find a new hobby to “take your mind off things”—you might respond, “Thank you for your concern, but that's really not helpful.” By being politely assertive, you not only help to curtail such remarks, but you can gain some measure of power during a time when you're probably feeling pretty powerless. You might even succeed in educating a few people.

Don't try to come up with a theological reason for an untimely death (trust me, they're aren't any) or some powerful, otherworldly explanation for why the mourner is suffering.

One of my friends gave me much help by being wise and kind enough to just be there for me, without trying to tell me how I should feel or act. —MARY, 52 When my brother died, a friend of his called and said simply, “This really sucks. Your brother didn't deserve this, and neither do you.” That was the most genuine expression of sympathy I received. Often it's the small expressions of sympathy that comfort the most.

The grief is bigger than me now; it lingers around every corner, like a bully, waiting to pounce. I feel trapped, confused, and afraid. I keep expecting someone to come to the rescue, to drop from the sky in a red cape and scare off the bully, but no one seems to notice my trembling.

I suspect there must a primal force, deep within us, that draws us to the sea; day after day I walk along the water's edge hoping to still the longing that is now so much a part of my grief. Standing on the beach, bundled warm against the cold, I'm immediately calmed by the familiar rhythm of the waves as they push toward the shore and then recede. Here, the grief seems less like a bully and more like a tentative child, peering at me from a distance, waiting for a signal to move closer. Gradually, a soft glow of peace eases its way into my soul, and, for a brief moment, I let go of the pain and cast it into the churning black waters.

hear his voice, clear and strong, always with a note of reassurance. I can feel what it's like to be with him— that same easy, familiar presence I've known all my life. And then, in an instant, it's gone. The memory vanishes as quickly as it came, slipping beneath the dark waters with the late afternoon sun. I sit very still for several minutes, a flutter of grief rising in my chest. “How can life go on without you?”

But now we know it's real. Sometimes this reality is so painful that we can't talk about it—even with those we love. There are no words, after all, that can express the enormity of our loss. Others, of course, may misinterpret our silence as evidence that we're moving forward, when the opposite is probably the case. In fact, one of the most ironic twists in the grief journey is likely to occur at this juncture. That is, the full impact of our brother's or sister's death begins to seep into our consciousness at precisely the same time when others might expect us to be feeling better. Hence, you'll probably begin to notice a gradual withdrawal of support just when you need it the most.

We form attachments with our brothers and sisters early in life, and these attachments generally grow deeper with age; the older you are when your sibling dies, the deeper your attachment.

Surviving siblings “search” for their deceased brothers and sisters in all kinds of places. For example, if your sibling suffered a prolonged illness and you fell into the rhythm of the hospital routine, you may find yourself going out of your way just to drive past the hospital one more time.

they've extended their sympathies, but now it's time to move on. They have no idea that the real pain of my loss has only just begun.

I turn down lunch and dinner invitations from friends and feel almost annoyed when they think to include me in their parties or other celebrations. Can't they see I've changed? I'm not the person I was several weeks ago. Their phone calls and social gatherings seem trivial and specious. All I really want is to be left alone.

I did feel very isolated from others, because I felt so different from anyone I knew. I didn't really want to go out and do things with friends because that seemed too normal, and I felt anything BUT normal. I felt like I was all of a sudden a different person, but no one would know it because I looked the same. That's a very isolating feeling—knowing that you're not who everyone else assumes you to be. As sympathetic as they were, I knew they really had no idea what an impact this had on my life.

Julianne frankly describes the feelings of disconnectedness voiced by many surviving siblings. These feelings stem from the fact that we've just been through a trauma. Like Julianne, we feel different from others, changed in a way that nongrievers simply can't understand. Because of these feelings of disconnectedness, many surviving siblings find it difficult to reach out to friends and family, so they simply withdraw.

Solitude can best be understood on three basic levels: physical, emotional, and spiritual. The physical need for solitude, perhaps the most common, is characterized primarily by social withdrawal. Surviving siblings seek a quiet place away from others, a place where they are free to reflect, cry, pray, and grieve in their own unique way.

But how can I learn to live in a world that doesn't include my brother? All my life, I've always been my brother's sister; it's part of my identity, part of who I am. My brother is part of my past; we share a common history. And we had plans for the future. I must, therefore, shift my perspective and change many goals in order to assimilate his loss into my life. Needless to say, this is an emotionally painful process because it feels as if I'm weeding him out of my life, which only compounds my grief.

There aren't any photo- graphs of my brother in the box, however; I can't bear to look at those yet.

“This must be what happens to people just before they go crazy,” I think to myself every night. But I can't change the ritual now. It's the only way I'm holding on.

It was difficult to be around normal (nongrieving) people. Their lives seemed so placid and pain free. I decided to take a sevenmonth leave of absence from work and to try to relax, travel a bit, and recover. I guess the solitude was useful in that I didn't have to put on a happy face when I wasn't feeling that way.

Ask anyone who has lost a brother or a sister and they'll tell you: “I'm not who I used to be.” Every loss changes us; you'll never be the person you were before your brother or sister died. Once you accept this, you can let go of the fantasy that things will eventually return to the way they used to be and get on with the hard work of finding meaning in your loss and then integrating it into your life.

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This does not mean that the loss of our grandparents and parents is any easier, only that losing our grandparents and parents is to be expected. But our brothers and sisters are supposed to help us cope with the eventual loss of our parents, grandparents, and other older relatives. Our brothers and sisters are not supposed to die until we've had the chance to grow old with them; it's the natural order of life.

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we will eventually have to endure the pain of our parents' deaths without the special support only siblings can provide.

I, too, have been wondering how it is that we can live in a world where murderers live long lives and decent, loving people like my brother die in the prime of life.