Some relationships don’t fit neatly into a family tree.
Technically, she was my stepsister.
To me, she was simply my sister.
My dad married her mom many years ago, and although that marriage eventually ended, my dad never stopped trying to adopt her. During the marriage, after the divorce… he tried more than once. For one reason or another, it never happened.
Paperwork never changed what she meant to us.
Growing up, life wasn’t easy for her. She battled anorexia to the point of hospital stays and feeding tubes. Watching someone so young fight a battle that consumed so much of her life is something I still think about today.
She also gave me some of my favorite childhood memories.
She introduced me to The Sims. We ate Frozen Go-Gurt Pops together. It’s funny how grief works. Sometimes it isn’t the biggest milestones you remember first. It’s the ordinary moments that quietly stay with you.
I always wanted more.
More conversations.
More memories.
More time.
I wanted her to be more than my sister. I wanted her to be one of my closest friends.
Life had other plans.
She passed away from heart failure when I was in high school.
I didn’t find out until after her funeral.
The news came almost as an afterthought through a Facebook message after the memorial had already taken place.
There was no chance to say goodbye.
No chance to stand beside my family.
No chance to celebrate her life with the people who loved her.
Just the sudden realization that the relationship I had always hoped we’d have would never get the opportunity to grow.
What makes it even harder to think about is how much life she still had ahead of her.
She had only been married a few months.
Her husband was preparing for deployment.
She was just beginning the next chapter of her life.
National Bereaved Parents Day has already passed this year, but it stayed with me.
It reminded me of something we often struggle to imagine.
No parent expects to outlive their child.
No matter the circumstances.
No matter the relationship.
No matter the mistakes that were made.
The loss of a child is a grief unlike any other.
I know my dad carried that grief deeply.
He loved her as his own.
He fought to make that official, but love doesn’t always need legal paperwork to make it real.
As if losing her wasn’t enough, she passed away on my dad’s birthday.
A day that should have been filled with celebration became forever intertwined with heartbreak.
Every birthday now carries both.
Joy and sorrow.
Love and loss.
Two emotions that somehow learn to exist together.
I don’t pretend to know what it feels like to lose a child.
I hope I never do.
But even though National Bereaved Parents Day has come and gone, I don’t think honoring bereaved parents should be limited to a single day on the calendar.
Their children mattered.
They still matter.
Their stories deserve to be told.
Their names deserve to be spoken.
So today, I’m remembering my sister.
The girl who introduced me to The Sims.
The one who loved Frozen Go-Gurt Pops.
The one whose life ended far too soon.
The one I always hoped I’d have more time with.
And I’m thinking of every parent whose child is loved, remembered, and deeply missed.
Because love doesn’t end when a life does.
Resources That Helped Me Navigate Grief
Grief looks different for everyone. There isn’t a checklist to complete or a timeline to follow. While no book or journal can take away the pain of losing someone you love, a few resources have offered comfort, perspective, and gentle reminders that healing isn’t about forgetting.
📖 It’s OK That You’re Not OK by Megan Devine
One of the most honest books I’ve read about grief. Instead of trying to “fix” your pain, Megan Devine validates it and reminds readers that grief isn’t something to get over—it’s something we learn to carry with love.
📓 A Guided Grief Journal
Writing has become one of the healthiest ways I’ve processed difficult emotions. A guided journal can help organize thoughts, preserve memories, and create space for healing.
🎐 Memorial Wind Chime
A memorial wind chime can become a beautiful reminder of someone you love. Hearing it on a quiet morning or breezy evening can create a moment to pause, remember, and feel connected to cherished memories.
☕ A Comfort Tea or Coffee Mug
Sometimes self-care isn’t about having all the answers. Sometimes it’s simply sitting with a warm drink and allowing yourself to feel what you need to feel.
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I’d Love to Hear From You
If you’re comfortable sharing, who are you remembering today?
Whether they were your child, your sibling, your parent, your spouse, or a cherished friend, I’d be honored to read about them.
Grief doesn’t disappear because the calendar moves on. Sometimes the greatest gift we can give one another is simply saying someone’s name and remembering that they were here.
Their story still matters. So do the people who continue carrying it forward.
The Gilded Margin 
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