February 26, 2025: Grief is a solitary road, even among family members who lost the same person. Back In December I shared about Depression, Grief and Holidays. Today I’ll share a bit about the process of my grief and the progress I’m making.

In September 2023 I had a morning routine. This routine, supporting my recovery program from alcoholism and addiction, usually started at 6:00 am more or less and included yoga, walking, caring for the cat in my life, connecting with my Higher Power through prayer and meditation, and writing in a journal. Almost every morning for a few years, that’s how I’d start my day. Up before the sun without an alarm, starting my day checking in with myself and my higher power before the rest of the world got moving.

In October 2023 – Wednesday, October 4, to be exact – I woke with that same intention, getting my Self in the right head space. I opened my iPad and what I saw on the screen changed my life and the lives of all my family members forever.

Long story short: my sister had taken her life the night before.

What followed was a jumble of numbness and emotions so confusing and intense that I retreated to a place inside that I didn’t know was still even an option. I found a compartment to place all the conflicting thoughts and feelings until I could sit alone and begin to look at them. Forty-eight hours later I was finally able to peek in the box.

I also no longer had a morning routine, nor did I care that I had no mooring.

What’s it like to experience this type of grief? It’s lonely. It’s maddening. And it takes as long as it takes to work through it to become the person I want to be today. That’s about as precise as I can be for the thousands of people who experience this type of grief every year. (more than 49,300 suicide deaths occured in the United States alone in 2023, according to provisional data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention)

When my sister Faith took her life, she also took a part of mine. I experienced depression, rage and even had suicidal thoughts of my own. I wanted to escape the emotional pain of the loss. The pain was deep and it affected every aspect of my life for months. I stopped showering regularly, instead living in the same tshirts and sweatpants for days, which resulted in two UTIs. I had no appetite for days in a row, then I ate everything comforting I could get my hands on for a day. That cycle repeated.

I still attended my weekly recovery meetings and I shared in a general way how I was feeling and what I was going through. I also sought out others I might be able to speak with about our shared grief, others who had lost loved ones, particularly siblings, to suicide. I felt more alone, not being able to find a sibling group during that first year. I tried some message board pages where you type out your feelings, but that felt flat, like I wasn’t being heard. I wrote a poem to her, about her. I did my best to be available to my father and to her daughters, my nieces, but it was hard going.

As the months passed, I became concerned for my spiritual well being. I didn’t feel like I was angry at my Creator but I also wasn’t that interested in reaching out in prayer or meditation. I no longer journaled regularly. I didn’t practice yoga or walk anymore.

I felt lost in a way that only a person who’s lost another person close to them would understand.

I found a book titled It’s Okay That You’re Not Okay by Megan Devine and it took me months to get through that book, but it helped. I read it when I could, when I was ready.

My father, who was also deeply affected by my sister’s passing, shared a series of pamphlets – almost like books – shortly after she passed, sending a new one at three months, and again at six months (maybe nine months?). Like the book I’d bought, I read the pamphlets when I was ready – which is to say, when I was able to force myself to read them in order to regain some peace I had lost.

See, before my sister ended her life, it only happened in other people’s families, not mine. Yes, our family has it’s fair share of mental illness history – trauma, violence, alcoholism, verbal and physical abuse – but each of us found a way to heal from it, or so I thought. But when she died, it became very real and very possible for anyone in my family to do this. There was a hyper-vigilence in those first few months of watching every member of the family very closely, making sure everyone else was getting the help they needed so this wouldn’t happen again.

March 18, 2025: It’s been almost eighteen months since my sister died. Most days I feel much like my old self. I started praying and meditating more regularly about a month ago. I’ve tried yoga a handful of times in the past couple of weeks. I’m journaling more, not every day, but more than once a month. I started a daily walk three days ago.

Small steps. A little at a time. Because even though on most days I feel better, I don’t always feel better. Today, for example, I felt derailed. Not necessarily grief driven, just saying that without the grief some days have always been hard.

Every day I have an opportunity to make a fresh start. I can DO or NOT DO. I get to decide what a fresh start looks like for me and set an intention to do that. I didn’t want to walk today – I recognized all the excuses I use to avoid a walk: It’s too cold, it’s too windy, it’s too late in the day, I don’t want to. I reminded myself why I walk – first, I like walking. I also want to use my muscles and joints so they don’t rebel on me later in life. I get to hear the birds chirping and the wind rustling through the trees. I get to wave at the neighbors and their pets while they are out walking. And I feel really good, physically and emotionally, when I finish my walk. Same with my meditation, and my morning tea.

I wrote this piece a few weeks ago. It sat for a while because it needed to, I needed to. I wasn’t sure what I was trying to share. Having re-read it, and adding today’s few paragraphs, I am reassuring myself that I am right where I need to be in the process of grieving and growing. It’s only been 18 months. When I believe that the feelings around her death are behind me, I might be unpleasently surprised when I am hit with the wave of grief again.

On the other hand, unexpected reminders of my sister Faith also bring me joy. Sunday, it was the hummingbird that visited me on the patio. Yesterday it was a Dave Matthews song she loved that brought a smile to my heart.

Healing is happening on it’s very own timetable. My fresh start is in progress right now.