David Eagleman wrote that there are three deaths. The first is when the body stops. The second is the burial. The third is the last time the person’s name is spoken.

We can’t prevent the first two. The third one is in our hands. These prompts move from the experience of silence around your sibling’s name, to what that silence costs, to what it means to keep speaking, to carrying the name forward regardless of whether the world made room for it.

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So I’m asking you. Right here. Right now.

What’s their name?

Drop it in the comments. Just the name. Nothing else required. No story, no explanation, no “how” or “when.” Just the name of the sibling you carry with you.

I’ll go first: Tony.

🐺

If you want to sit with this a little longer, here are a few prompts to write through this week.

1. Write your sibling’s name at the top of a blank page. Now write every version of it you’ve ever used, the full name, the nickname, the one only your family said, the one only you said, and yes even the ones you joked about or never said out loud. (My kiddo put a nickname for my brother in my phone once that says “Uncle Tony the buttface.” It’s still there.) Which version feels most like them?

2. Where do you say your sibling’s name most freely? Where do you hold it back? What makes those spaces different?

3. Has anyone ever asked you about your sibling in a way that felt like a gift instead of an obligation? What did they ask, and why did it land differently?

If these prompts helped, the full Wild Grief Prompt Set goes deeper. Paid subscribers get 9 prompts this weekend that explore the silence around names, carrying names forward, and what it means to keep speaking when the world goes quiet.

If one or more of these landed, I'd love to know which one(s).

Warmly,

Angela
Tony’s little sister 🐺

🎧 Listen: A Surviving Sibling’s Story of Caregiving, Loss, and Finding Joy Again with Earla Legault is out now wherever you listen to podcasts.

🐺

The Broken Pack: Stories of Sibling Loss is available wherever you listen to podcasts.

Follow us on Instagram or learn more at thebrokenpack.com.

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“There are three deaths: the first is when the body ceases to function. The second is when the body is consigned to the grave. The third is that moment, sometime in the future, when your name is spoken for the last time.”

~ David Eagleman, Sum

Many years before Tony died, before I knew much about sibling loss at all, a friend’s sister died. I showed up for her. I sat with her. I helped book a flight for her, and I helped her create a project to stay connected to her sister. I didn’t have a framework for it yet. I just knew she needed to keep her sister close, and I helped her find a way to do that.

Later, when I was going through significant challenges in my own life, she sat in my kitchen and told me I wasn’t allowed to be sad. She was not joking. She adamantly berated me for being upset about circumstances that had warranted my therapist at the time telling me, “You have been through more difficult things than most people have in their entire life.” But this now former friend insisted that because of what I do, because I’m a psychologist, I should know how to handle hard things. That because I had the tools, being upset didn’t make sense. (Don’t worry, through my tears I kicked her out of my house.)

I carried that for a long time not because I believed her, but because I wondered how many other people thought the same thing and just never said it.

🐺

When I unintentionally stepped back from the podcast and from Instagram for a while over the past year or two, some people reached out because they genuinely saw me. They didn’t need anything from me. They were concerned, and they just wanted me to know they were there.

Earla Legault was one of those people. She’d send messages, sometimes just a photo of a rainbow or a pink sky that reminded her of Leigh-Ann. She didn’t ask how I was doing in that way that requires you to pretend or offer socially normed “fine” responses. She just showed up in my inbox or my DMs with something beautiful and let me know she was thinking of me.

She told me later that she had a sense I was overwhelmed. She was right. She could see it because she’d lived it, the weight of carrying your own grief while also holding space for everyone else’s.

Not everyone who reached out during that time came with the same energy. Some people showed up with demands or expectations, not support. It was as if my stepping back was an inconvenience rather than a necessity. I don’t say that with bitterness. I say it because I think bereaved siblings will recognize the feeling. There are people who see your grief, and there are people who see past it to what they need from you.

Earla saw me in the way she sees every bereaved sibling she meets.

🐺

In this week’s podcast episode, Earla told me something that stopped me mid-conversation. She said the first thing she does when she meets a bereaved sibling is ask them their sibling’s name. Not how they died. Not how long ago. Just the name.

One woman told her, “You are the first person that has asked me that since he died in 1992.”

Decades. Decades without someone asking her brother’s name.

I think about that third death from the Eagleman quote. We can’t prevent the first. We can’t prevent the second. But the third one? That one is in our hands. Every time we speak our sibling’s name, every time someone asks us about them, every time we answer, we are holding that third death at bay.

And every time someone doesn’t ask, every time the room goes quiet when we mention them, every time someone changes the subject because they think enough time has passed, that silence inches us closer to it.

We talk about disenfranchised grief. We talk about the grief hierarchy that puts siblings somewhere near the bottom. But sometimes the simplest way to describe what bereaved siblings experience is this: people stop asking or saying the name. Eventually, they stop saying it altogether.

🐺

Earla lost her younger sister Leigh-Ann to pancreatic cancer twelve years ago. She was Leigh-Ann’s caregiver for three months. Their house of two became a house of five and a long goodbye.

There is so much in this episode I want you to hear, so please listen wherever you get your podcasts.

Right now, I want to come back to the name and to the one simple question. What was your sibling’s name?

It costs nothing. It means everything. And it keeps that third death from arriving.

🐺

Tony.

That’s my brother’s name. And I will never stop saying it.

If you’re reading this and you have a sibling who died, I want you to hold their name right now whether that is out loud or in your head. Which feels right? They are still your sibling. They matter. You matter, and someone should be asking.

🐺

If this is landing somewhere in you, try writing on this:

• When was the last time someone asked you your sibling’s name, not how they died, not how you’re doing, just their name? What did that feel like? And if it hasn’t happened, what do you imagine it would feel like to hear someone ask?

Write for five minutes. No editing, no judgment. Just let it come.

Stay tuned for a few more free prompts tomorrow. The full Wild Grief Prompt Set for this theme (9 prompts with reflection questions) will be available for paid subscribers this weekend.

If any of this resonated, send it to someone who might need it. Or hold onto it for yourself. Both matter.

🎧 A Surviving Sibling’s Story of Caregiving, Loss, and Finding Joy Again

Warmly,

Angela

Tony’s little sister 🐺

The Broken Pack: Stories of Sibling Loss is available wherever you listen to podcasts.

Follow us on Instagram

Leave a comment

“Just when I thought I had figured out the way the world worked, Robert went and flattened it.”

~ Susan Kellam, Brilliant Disguise: A Memoir

I thought I knew my brother. I spent decades beside him, and I built a pretty solid picture of who he was. I think most of us do that with our siblings. We grow up alongside them, share a childhood, eat at the same table, and we assume that means we know each other. We assume the version of them we carry is the whole version.

As we grow up, the picture becomes more whole. We assume that we have decades to learn about one another.

Then they die.

Slowly, sometimes years later, we start to learn things about them and about ourselves that we couldn’t quite see from the inside.

🐺

In the most recent episode of The Broken Pack™: Stories of Sibling Loss, I spoke with Susan Kellam about her memoir, Brilliant Disguise. Susan set out to write a memoir about her career at Rolling Stone, and the many related rock and roll adventures she had. Her brother Robert was in it, but in the background. When an agent pushed her to develop Robert's story, Susan realized she couldn't do it alone. She began seeing a therapist, and over years of writing and looking back, she began to understand things about Robert and about their shared childhood that she hadn't been able to see while he was alive.

Susan spent years seeing Robert as her rock, the person she called when she was struggling. He always showed up. Yet, he never made that call to her. She had not seen him as vulnerable. When Robert was hospitalized after a crisis and her family told her to stay away, she went to the Fashion Avenue, Seventh Avenue in Manhattan. There she bought fabric and made him a patchwork quilt. At the time, it was the only way she felt like she was helping him put his life back together.

When someone we love dies, it disrupts the story we were living inside. The assumptions we held about our family - our role in it, our sibling’s inner world - all get shaken. Susan thought she was writing a rock and roll memoir. However, many readers, agents, and others who picked up the book told her the same thing: this is a sibling book. The story she thought she was living inside was not the story that was actually being told on the page. The work that follows is slow and uneven. It’s a lifelong process of building a story large enough to hold who our sibling actually was.

And after all of that, the pain, the hidden vulnerability, the quilt, Susan said that Robert was still the person she turned to. Until the very end.

People sometimes show up for us when our sibling first dies. But this kind of grief — the grief of re-knowing them, of sitting with what we learn years later — doesn’t get the same support. Most people don’t even recognize it as grief. It happens quietly, over years, and we carry it largely alone.

🐺

What I have learned about Tony since his death warms my heart like the sweater of his I love to wear and the bear hugs he used to give. The Tony I know now is even more loving, caring, supportive, and understanding than I realized he was. Don’t get me wrong, he always was.

Since his death, I have heard from so many people that he was always talking about me, always telling them how proud he was of me. I always sensed that, and never understood how much he shared me and his love for me with others. Since his death I have reflected upon our life while he was living, and realized he truly loved me unconditionally — unlike anyone else in my life (then or now).

This was ever present the week he died, in what I will always hold as one of my most precious conversations.

A sibling's death can teach us things their life can't. For Susan, it was the depth of Robert's pain. For me, it was the depth of Tony's love.

It’s not because our siblings were keeping something from us. Rather, it’s because we were together inside the story, living it, and sometimes the love that’s closest to us is the hardest to see clearly.

🐺

If this is landing somewhere in you, try writing on this:

• What is one thing you understand about your sibling now that you couldn’t have understood while they were alive? Sit with it. You don’t have to resolve it.

Write for five minutes. No editing, no judgment. Just let it come.

Stay tuned for a few more free prompts tomorrow. The full Wild Grief Prompt Set for this theme (9 prompts with reflection questions) will be available for paid subscribers this weekend.

If any of this resonated, send it to someone who might need it. Or hold onto it for yourself. Both matter.

🎧 Listen to Episode 43: Brilliant Disguise: A Surviving Sibling’s Memoir

Warmly,

Angela

Tony’s little sister 🐺

The Broken Pack: Stories of Sibling Loss is available wherever you listen to podcasts.

Follow us on Instagram

Leave a comment

These prompts go deeper. Take your time with them. Come back to the ones that scare you a little.

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These prompts are for you. You don’t need to have listened to the episode. You just need to have lost a sibling.

Pick one or do them all. Five minutes each. No editing.

🐺

1. When someone asks how many siblings you have, what do you say? Has your answer changed since they died?

2. Has anyone ever said something that made you feel like your role as a sibling had been erased? What happened and how did you respond?

3. What is one thing about your sibling that you refuse to let the world forget?

4. Has losing your sibling changed how you see yourself as a sister or brother? Have labels changed about being older, younger, only, twins? What shifted?

5. If your sibling could hear how you talk about them today, what would they think?

🐺

These prompts were inspired by my conversation with Nina Rodriguez on Episode 42 of The Broken Pack. Nina lost her only sibling, Yosef, and her answer to the identity question is one of my favorite moments in this episode.

If these prompts helped, the paid version goes deeper. Paid subscribers get 9 new prompts tomorrow that explore the roles we carried, the versions of ourselves that only existed in our sibling's presence, and what it costs us to stay quiet about our loss.

Warmly,

Angela

Tony’s little sister 🐺

The Broken Pack: Stories of Sibling Loss is available wherever you listen to podcasts.

🎧 Listen to Episode 42: Shining a Light on Sibling Loss, Addiction, and Life’s Little Pleasures

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My father said this to me a few months after my brother Tony died. His intent has never been to hurt me, and it wasn’t that day either. He was grieving, too. But the words hit me in a place I didn’t know was exposed.

I remember the sentence landing somewhere in my chest and staying there.

I wasn’t an only child. I am not an only child. I have a brother. He’s just not here anymore.

Here’s the part that makes it more complicated. My father is a bereaved sibling himself. Twice. His older brother was murdered as a teenager in Italy in the 1950s. And, one of his sisters died of a heart attack in her early fifties, about 24 years ago.

He has lived this loss for decades, and even he spoke those words.

I don't remember my exact words, but I told him that wasn't true, that Tony is my brother, even if he's dead. We can't erase him, just like we can't erase the siblings my father himself has lost.

My father has told me that he thinks of his brother every day. Yet, even he who has carried sibling loss for over sixty years spoke words highlighting how invisible this part of sibling grief is. It's not about caring. It's about never having been given the language.

🐺

I sat down with Nina Rodriguez for the latest episode of The Broken Pack™, and she told me a story I related to immediately.

Nina lost her only sibling, Yosef, to fentanyl poisoning in 2019. A few months later, she started a new job. During introductions, a coworker, someone she had just met, casually said, “Well, now that you’re an only child...”

(Nina used the phrase "only sibling" in our conversation on the podcast, but later told me the coworker's actual words were "only child.")

Nina said everything went silent. She couldn’t hear anything after that.

A stranger, for all intents and purposes, felt completely okay redefining Nina’s entire sense of identity in one sentence. Nina had to excuse herself. She went to the restroom and cried. She couldn’t function the rest of the day.

When she told me this, I felt my own memory rise up. Different person, different words, similar wound.

🐺

Here’s what I’ve learned, as a grieving sister, as a thanatologist, and as a psychologist who works with loss: the identity piece of sibling loss is one of the most disorienting parts, and almost nobody talks about it.

When you lose a parent, people understand (at least on the surface) that you’re still someone’s child. Even adults have started calling themselves “orphans” after losing both parents. When you lose a spouse, the word “widow” or “widower” exists. Those labels and understandings are painful, but it gives you a place to stand.

When you lose a sibling, there’s no word. There’s no role that society hands you. (I've been half-seriously lobbying for "sobling" but it hasn't caught on yet.) And so other people fill the silence with their own logic. You had one brother. He died. So now you’re an only child. It’s arithmetic to them. To you, it’s an erasure.

🐺

Nina struggled with that same question: Am I still a sister if my brother is dead?

How she answered it is one of my favorite moments in this episode. I’ll let her tell you.

I’ve talked with a lot of bereaved siblings over the years, on the podcast, in my personal life, and in my work. The identity question comes up again and again. Not always in the same words, but always in the same place: that disorienting gap between who you know yourself to be and how the world now sees you.

You do not stop being a sibling because your sibling died. The relationship doesn’t end. It changes form. And you get to decide what that looks like for you.

In this episode, Nina and I also talk about shame, fentanyl, the grief hierarchy, what happens when you hit year five and realize you never made a plan for year six, and how Nina pivoted from a real estate career to life-affirming grief work.

🎧 Listen to Episode 42: Shining a Light on Sibling Loss, Addiction, and Life’s Little Pleasures

If this is landing somewhere in you, try writing on one of these:

• When someone asks how many siblings you have, what do you say? Has your answer changed over time?

• Has anyone ever redefined your identity as a sibling without your permission? What did that feel like?

Pick one. Write for five minutes. No editing, no judgment. Just let it come.

Warmly,

Angela

Tony’s little sister 🐺

The Broken Pack: Stories of Sibling Loss is available wherever you listen to podcasts.

Follow us on Instagram

Leave a comment

Kenneth Doka named disenfranchised grief to describe what happens when a loss isn’t recognized by the people and systems around the griever.

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"There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me."
~ C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

When C.S. Lewis wrote about grieving his wife, he described an invisible blanket between himself and the world. You may know exactly what he meant.

Maybe you’ve never had a name for it, but you know the feeling. The world keeps going. People talk. Life continues in every ordinary way. And you are somewhere just outside all of it.

That’s sibling grief. That’s been sibling grief for as long as there have been surviving siblings – since the beginning of time. And even in recent decades, most of the world looked right past it. Even the fields that are supposed to study it.

Dr. Christina Zampitella has been trying to change that for over twenty years.

She’s a Fellow in Thanatology: the study of death, dying, and loss. She has spent her career researching sibling loss, writing about it, presenting it, pushing for it to be taken seriously in a field that still reaches for other losses first.

She lost her own brother Damien on Christmas Day in 1999. She has been doing this work from both sides of that door, the researcher and the surviving sibling, for longer than most people have even known sibling grief had a name.

Decades later, there is still so little out there.

When my brother Tony died, I did what psychologists do. I went looking for the research. I needed something that named what I was carrying. There was almost nothing, especially on adult sibling loss. One paper on adult surviving siblings, published in 2011, written by Dr. Zampitella, was profoundly helpful to me and in a lot of ways inspired me to create The Broken Pack™.

That’s the world sibling loss survivors are living in. You reach for something to hold onto and the shelf is nearly empty.

I’ve been thinking about why that shelf stays empty, about all the ways the world fails to witness this grief. This happens in person, in the awkward silence when you tell someone your sibling died and they ask how your parents are doing. It also happens in the digital spaces where so many of us now go looking for each other. I’ve been working on something: a new scholarly paper I’m presenting next week at the 50th annual conference of the Association for Death Education and Counseling (ADEC).

I’m not ready to lay it all out here yet, and I want to do it properly before I do. But I’ll tell you this much. It’s about that blanket and about why grief keeps getting missed even in the spaces that were supposed to finally see it. It’s for every person who has ever reached out and gotten silence back.

More on that soon.

What I know is that Dr. Z has been living that silence for a long time. And she has spent twenty years making sure other surviving siblings didn’t have to live it alone. That’s partly what Episode 41 is about. We talked about her story, her brother Damien, nearly twenty-six years of carrying him, and twenty years of advocating and educating for the rest of us.

It’s a conversation that stayed with me long after we stopped recording.

Link in bio. 🐺

As a child, I got lost walking along Virginia Beach looking for seashells. I stopped at a lifeguard chair sobbing because I couldn’t find my family. I was certain I had been forgotten, that I would never find my way back to them. When they found me, it was Tony’s hug and his quiet reassurance that made everything okay. He did that countless times in the years that followed.

So when he died, and the world around me turned toward my parents and toward his children, I wanted so desperately for someone to see my pain. I knew that Tony, who had loved me unconditionally and always found ways to acknowledge me quietly, without anyone else noticing, would have seen it. He would have named it.

His absence at his own funeral was an overwhelming force. And the people around me, while meaning well, were mostly unable to support me, or they said unhelpful, hurtful things.

Until I found other surviving siblings, I felt like I was hiding under that invisible blanket. And then, slowly, together, it felt a little less suffocating. Meeting Dr. Z reinforced that. Still does.

If this is sitting with you, I wonder:

When did you first realize the world wasn’t going to witness your grief the way it deserved?
And what did you do with that?

Write it down, say it out loud, sit with it. There’s no wrong way.

Share this with a surviving sibling who needs to know the blanket has a name.

Warmly,

Angela
Tony’s little sister 🐺

The Broken Pack: Stories of Sibling Loss, Episode 41 with Dr. Christina Zampitella is out now wherever you listen to podcasts.

Find us on Instagram.

Dr. Robert Neimeyer describes grief as a rupture in the story of a life.

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"Staring at the blank page before you / Today is where your book begins / The rest is still unwritten" — Natasha Bedingfield, Unwritten (2004)

Before your sibling died, you were in the middle of a story.

Not a tidy one. Maybe it had tension in it, long silences, chapters you’d rather skip. Maybe it was the best relationship of your life. Maybe it was both at once. But it was going somewhere.

There were more pages coming. They were still in it with you, in the background, as the person you hadn't called yet, as the one you thought you still had time with.

And then, without warning, the pen was in your hand. Alone. Staring at a page you don’t know how to start.

Dr. Robert Neimeyer describes loss as a rupture in the story of a life. We each carry a narrative, an ongoing account of who we are, where we came from, and where things are heading. It has characters and history and an implied future.

When someone central to that narrative dies, the story doesn’t just lose them. It loses its shape. The plot you were living inside no longer holds the way it did.

For surviving siblings this lands somewhere specific and mostly unacknowledged. Your sibling wasn’t just someone you loved. They were in your story from the very first pages, so early you don’t even have clear memories of them being absent. They knew the unformed version of you, the one that existed before you understood who you were becoming. They held a part of your history that lives nowhere else now. And the grief of losing that, of losing your first witness, is one the world rarely makes room for.

What Neimeyer offers, and what I find genuinely useful rather than just theoretically interesting, is that the blank page is not a sign you’re doing something wrong. It’s what happens when a story gets interrupted before its time.

The work that comes eventually, slowly, and on no particular schedule is not to return to the story you were living before. That story is gone.

Rather, what grief demands is that we author something new. Something that holds the loss honestly. Something that keeps them in it, because they are still in it. And something that tells the truth about who you are now, with this absence woven through everything.

That is not moving on, and it’s not closure.

It’s the slow, often painful work of figuring out what your life means now — what you carry forward, what you build around what’s missing, how you hold them in the chapters they don’t get to live.

The rest is still unwritten. That’s not a comfort, exactly. But it is true. And sometimes true is enough to begin with.

When we were kids, my brother, Tony, with his tight pencil grip and left-handed posture dragged his hand across each line he wrote. In the 80’s our common school pencils had softer graphite than most do now. Tony’s hands were often covered in the shiny grey graphite and scarred by a permanent callus from his death grip. His pages bore the smudged lines where his hand dragged across what he'd just written, altering it ever so slightly.

I would tease him. My papers and writing were neat, precise, and clean. After laughing together, he would chase me around the house trying to rub his messy left hand on my clothes or my neatly written homework. Some days he would catch me before I ducked into my ironically messy room and he into his organized, clean one.

Some days I find him in what I write. In this newsletter, in the podcast, in the wolves. He is still in the story. Just differently now. And he will appear differently tomorrow, next month, and in the next decade.

If this is landing somewhere in you, sit with this today:
Before your sibling died, what story were you both inside? And what does it feel like to be holding the pen alone now?

Write it down, say it aloud, or just sit with it. There’s no wrong way to begin.

Warmly,

Angela
Tony’s little sister 🐺

The Broken Pack: Stories of Sibling Loss is available wherever you listen to podcasts.

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Wild Grief is the newsletter of The Broken Pack™, an organization founded by me, Dr. Angela Dean, a psychologist, Fellow in Thanatology, and surviving sibling, after the unexpected death of my brother on February 22, 2020.

The Broken Pack™ exists because sibling loss is misunderstood. Because surviving siblings are too often invisible in their grief, told to take care of everyone else, and never asked how they themselves are doing. Because your grief is real, it is profound, and it deserves to be seen.

Wild Grief exists to make sure you never feel alone in it.

This is where our newsletter lives now, and where we are building something a little deeper than a newsletter. The Broken Pack™ podcast is returning on February 22nd, 2026 with brand new episodes, and I will release a special solocast that speaks honestly about where I have been and what is coming next.

I hope you will listen.

Here you will find grief resources specific to sibling loss, coping strategies, stories from surviving siblings, reflections from me, guest writers, guests, news from The Broken Pack™, and soon very special offerings for our paid community.

All are welcome here. Much content will be free.

If this is not the right space for you right now, that is okay. You are always free to unsubscribe at any time with no hard feelings. Grief is personal and so is the support you need.

But if you are staying, we are so glad. There is a lot coming.

With love and wild grief,

Angela M. Dean, PsyD, FT
Founder, The Broken Pack™

February 22, 2025

Hello, Reader!

I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I fear something terrible has happened.
~Obi-Wan Kenobi

Sibling Loss is a Perpetual Great Disturbance

It’s been quite some time since I sent this newsletter, posted on Instagram, or made the podcast with any regularity. In fact, you may have forgotten you even subscribed to this newsletter or may be new here.

So, let me take some time to explain how a tsunami of grief left me frozen in my tracks, and how I am ready to be here for and with you in your loss.

My journey of grief began five years ago today. I was in a hair salon when I learned that my dear brother, Tony, died unexpectedly in his sleep. I was quite literally floored, falling to the ground, when I heard that news. It was a Saturday, like today, just before the pandemic hit the world. More of my story is heard throughout the podcast and especially in the last episode of the first season.​

My world was shattered, and my expectations of the future were greatly disturbed.

Over the past five years, I have learned a lot about life and living, death and dying, and sibling grief. I have discovered that grief is a perpetual reminder of love, life, and secondary losses.

The past six to eight months have been overwhelming with numerous life stressors. I handled many with ease, but began to feel silenced, frozen, and stuck.

A few weeks ago, as I stood teaching a class of masters students about grief encompassing full ranges of responses to loss (physical, emotional, cognitive, behavioral, social, and/or spiritual), I suddenly realized that much of my overwhelm, feeling stuck, and avoidance of writing these newsletters, posting on social media, and creating the podcast were grief and fear of today, the fifth anniversary of losing Tony.

I have taken time to process this and will continue to do so. But I am ready to do so and share this process with you while supporting you, too.

Reconstructing the Self

One theory of grief, Niemeyer’s Narrative Reconstruction, teaches us that grief isn’t just about what we’ve lost, but also about rebuilding our lives and identities after that loss.

We may find ourselves retelling the story of our sibling’s life and death, searching for meaning and connection even in their absence. This process often involves rediscovering who we are now, exploring new paths, creating our present, and exploring and changing our relationship to our past and assumptions about our world.

Ultimately, it allows us to move forward while staying connected to our loss story and our sibling (or others we have lost). It’s a journey of redefining ourselves in the face of profound change and know that you’re not alone on this path.

I am not the same person I was when I was hysterical on the floor of the hair salon five years ago. In many ways, Tony would very much recognize me now, and in many ways, he would be surprised by (and proud of) who I have become.

Loss changes us. I am in some ways even more serious than I was before. I didn’t think that was possible. In contrast, in many ways I am more lighthearted and carefree like Tony was.

For me, creating The Broken Pack, becoming a Fellow in Thanatology (the study of death, dying, bereavement, and loss), and specializing in grief therapy was a natural way of meaning making, reconstructing myself, and an extension of work I was already doing prior to Tony’s death. Yet, I have marked the connection Tony and I have through learning how to continue our bond (more on continuing bonds here) including naming The Broken Pack after wolves, learning how to style my curly hair, and even watching Star Trek and Star Wars (including the above quote), things he loved.

Today, I will find ways to honor him – both alone and in the company of friends and family who love and support me.

Writing through Grief

Sometimes, writing through grief in journaling or creating a voice memo can be particularly helpful. These actions help us to navigate life after loss and discover who we were, who we are, and what aspects of our selves has changed for better or worse.

Prompts for Writing or Voice Memos

Choose any or all that you wish.

1. How has this loss impacted your sense of self?

2. How have you changed since your sibling died?

3. What core beliefs have been challenged?

4. How can you nurture your bond with your sibling?

5. What qualities or traits of your sibling do you want to remember and carry with you?

6. What would your sibling want other people to know about them?

If you’d like to connect or share your story on the podcast, please reply back to this e-mail.

​

Warmly,

Podcast

The Broken Pack™: Stories of Adult Sibling Loss

Want to learn more about the podcast episodes? Did you know each episode has it’s own page? Catch up before Season 5 comes out!

Check out the podcast →How can you support us?

• Listen, follow, like, share, and subscribe to our social media especially Instagram, and our podcast. If so inclined, please leave positive reviews and 5 star ratings of the podcast wherever you listen. This will help us tremendously.

• Stay tuned for our announcements!

• Keep reading these newsletters and share with others to help us get the word out!

• If this was forwarded to you, go here to subscribe.

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The post Wild Grief: Sibling Loss, a Perpetual Disturbance first appeared on The Broken Pack.

October 1, 2024

Hello, Reader!

I’ve never been the same since my brother died. There’s a melancholy in me that never goes away. I’m 50% happy and 50% sad at any given moment.
~Billy Bob Thornton

A Gentle Return

I know it’s been a while since we’ve connected through this newsletter, and I want to thank you for your patience and understanding. The past few months have been unexpectedly overwhelming. Amidst the whirlwind, I’ve found it difficult to maintain the weekly writing and numerous other tasks. But I’m back, ready to journey with you once again through the complexities of sibling grief, especially as we navigate the changing seasons and the weight of world events.

The Bittersweetness of Autumn

Today, the first day of October feels like the official start of Autumn here in the Northern Hemisphere. While I know the Fall season truly began a few weeks ago on the solstice, today feels different. To me, there is a noticeable shift in the lighting – from days being shorter to the color and quality of the sunsets. The air is beginning to feel crisper, and the leaves have begun to change.

As I walk through the neighborhood and stores seeing all of the reminders of Autumn, I find myself filled with bittersweet memories. One minute I am chuckling at memories of Tony and I riding our Big Wheels into a pile of leaves at the bottom of the driveway, raking them up, and doing it again for what seemed like hours. The next minute I am sobbing recalling our last photo on our last Thanksgiving dinner together, five years ago, in which my dad tried to squirt him with whipped cream.

Longing for the Sibling Connection

My brother was a constant calm in my life – especially when we were children and teens. His unconditional love and uncanny way of listening were welcome even when he was silently formulating a smart aleck thing to say. I needed all of this and his delivery of a well-time joke followed by his incredible laugh so much these past few months.

I needed the calm constant. I needed my brother.

But finding Tony’s presence and calmness after he died has been a Herculean task, especially when his death was the impetus for ongoing turmoil in some aspects of my life and family relationships.

Continuing Bonds

Over the past four years and seven months since Tony died, I have worked really hard to learn how to continue our relationship, to continue the bond. It’s easier at times than others. I will always love him, and I feel his unconditional love quite a bit of the time.

Just a few weeks ago, two local grief counselors who I met in April reached out. We were presented with an opportunity to have a grief event on a local equine therapy farm, Bella Terra Stables. We agreed to focus on adult sibling loss, granting me the opportunity to share just how disenfranchised sibling loss is. While we toured the farm, I shared my story of sibling loss and about how Tony would graciously agree to walk to a horse farm with me so I could stare longingly at the horses. As we were leaving, one of the other therapists playfully directed a snarky comment toward me that could have easily come right out of Tony’s mouth. In that moment, I felt his presence and smiled.

Community

Each of the rescued horses on the farm have their own story. And in meeting each of them, I felt for them. Together, they have formed a herd finding companionship from one another, the humans who care for them, and gentleness for those who visit them. On that day, on that farm, I felt connected to the horses and to each of you. It felt very much like the community we are building here through The Broken Pack. Bella Terra Stables seemed like the perfect place to host an in-person community event for adult sibling loss survivors!

And with that, I leave you this week with two things:

1. If you wish to join us on November 16th for a 1-Day Sibling Loss Equine-Assisted Retreat, please register now. There are only 12 spots available. More information can be found at https://thebrokenpack.com/dayretreat/ or by scanning the QR code on the image above.

2. Please take time to nurture your continuing bond with your sibling this Autumn (or Spring if you are in the Southern Hemisphere). Here are a few ideas:

   • Go to a place they loved. Just be. Just notice any thoughts, feelings, or sensations that occur. Write them down if you wish.

   • Make their favorite seasonal food or beverage.

   • Tell someone new about your sibling. I’d love to hear about them. Feel free to respond to this message or DM me on Instagram (@thebrokenpack).

   • Try talking or writing to them.

Warmly,

​

​

Podcast

The Broken Pack™: Stories of Adult Sibling Loss

Want to learn more about the podcast episodes? Did you know each episode has it’s own page? Catch up before Season 5 comes out!

Check out the podcast →

How can you support us?

• Listen, follow, like, share, and subscribe to our social media especially Instagram, and our podcast. If so inclined, please leave positive reviews and 5 star ratings of the podcast wherever you listen. This will help us tremendously.

• Please support the ongoing efforts of The Broken Pack™ by shopping the Not Done Here™ sibling loss collection or by making a gift (of which all proceeds go to supporting adult sibling loss survivors.

• Stay tuned for our announcements!

• Keep reading these newsletters and share with others to help us get the word out!

• If this was forwarded to you, go here to subscribe.

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The post Wild Grief: Horses, Connection, & a Sibling Loss Community first appeared on The Broken Pack.

June 16, 2024

Hi, Reader!

Father’s Day is here in the US and other places. It’s a time for honoring dads, but it can also stir up a complex mix of emotions for those of us who have lost a sibling. It’s a day that can magnify both joy and sorrow, bringing to light the changes in our family dynamics and the fears that accompany those changes.

A Unique Experience for Each of Us

Grief isn’t one-size-fits-all, and neither is the experience of Father’s Day. It might bring up cherished memories of shared celebrations, or perhaps feelings of sadness for what’s missing. For me, it’s a day filled with bittersweet reflections of my brother, who was not only my sibling but also a father himself. His absence, and the absence of his children, whom we no longer see, casts a shadow over our celebrations.

I remember one Father’s Day, not long after my brother died, when my dad’s usual lightheartedness felt a bit subdued. But when I asked him the familiar question, “What’s new?”, he flashed his signature subtle smile and quipped his usual answer, “New Jersey, New York, New Hampshire, New Mexico!” His playful response, even amidst our grief, reminded me that holding onto joy is possible, and that laughter (and my eyerolls) can still coexist with sadness.

It was a small moment, but it also highlighted the changing landscape of our family. My dad recently turned 80, and the reality of potentially losing him and my mom someday, leaving me utterly alone, is a new and daunting fear that has emerged since my brother’s death.

Navigating Complex Emotions

Whatever you’re feeling is valid. Our family dynamics change profoundly after losing a sibling, and that includes the ways we experience holidays.

For me, today is a reminder that what’s “new” isn’t just about states or silly jokes. It’s about the newness of navigating grief alongside the joy of celebrating my dad. It’s about facing the fear of future loss while cherishing the present. And I know I’m not alone in this. Many of us who have lost siblings experience a heightened sense of isolation and a deeper awareness of our own mortality.

Reflecting and Honoring:

This Father’s Day let’s acknowledge the full spectrum of our experiences. Let’s honor the joy of celebrating our fathers, mourning them if they’re no longer with us, or navigating difficult or absent relationships with them, while also acknowledging the pain of missing our siblings.

Remember:

• There’s no right or wrong way to feel on Father’s Day.

• It’s okay to experience a mix of emotions including joy, grief, and fear. among others.

Ideas and for Today:

Family Dynamics: Take a moment to acknowledge how your family has changed since your sibling’s loss. This might offer new insights into how you (and your family) are approaching this Father’s Day.

Choices: There’s no pressure to celebrate in a certain way. Consider what feels right for you – maybe a quiet reflection, a heartfelt conversation with family, or choosing to simply honor the day in your own way.

Communication: Open, honest communication is key. Share your feelings with trusted loved ones and be receptive to their needs and experiences as well. Remember, there’s no right or wrong way to feel. Reach out to others who understand your loss or at least are willing to listen and / or be present with you.

Supporting Grieving Siblings:

If you’re supporting a sibling through grief, here are some things to keep in mind:

Maintain a Posture of Genuine Curiosity: Ask open-ended questions like, “How are you feeling about Father’s Day this year?” Avoid assumptions and truly listen to their response.

Validate: Let them know their feelings are valid, no matter what they are. A simple statement like, “It’s okay to feel however you feel today,” can go a long way.

Offer Support: Be there to listen without judgment. A shared meal, a walk in the park, or simply being present can be incredibly meaningful.

For a quick reminder you can easily share, please see our reel posted on Instagram and TikTok today.

Warmly,

Join Our Community of Support

• Follow us on Instagram for daily inspiration, connection, and sibling loss resources.

• Listen, like, share, and subscribe to our podcast on your favorite platform! We are taking a short break but will be back soon with new episodes!

• If so inclined, please leave positive reviews and 5-star ratings of the podcast wherever you listen. This helps tremendously.

• Your purchase from our Not Done Here™ sibling loss collection directly supports our work to empower adult sibling loss survivors.

• Your generous gift helps us provide vital resources and community for those navigating sibling loss.

• Stay connected through our newsletters for ongoing support, inspiration, and the latest news on sibling loss resources. Share this newsletter with others who might find it helpful, and let’s build a stronger community together. If this was forwarded to you, go here to subscribe.

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Podcast

The Broken Pack™: Stories of Adult Sibling Loss

Want to learn more about the podcast episodes? Did you know each episode has its own page? Season 4 has just finished!

Check out the podcast →

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101 N. Meadow Drive, STE # 115, Wexford, PA 15090
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The post Wild Grief: Father’s Day Reflections in Sibling Grief first appeared on The Broken Pack.

June 08, 2024

Hello, Reader!

Being the younger child, I had the smaller of the two bedrooms growing up. My single window, seemingly miles above the floor, remained a tantalizing mystery until I was a teen. Even then, my 5-foot frame required a boost from furniture to glimpse the world beyond. But I was strangely grateful for that one window, especially during thunderstorms.

As a child, I was terrified of lightning. Without air conditioning, we often slept with windows open, and I was convinced the lightning would strike me through that one window. My initial idea of comfort was creating a sheet-tent over my bed, burrowing deep beneath the covers, and trying to will myself to sleep so I could forget the storm was happening.

This memory has come up a lot recently as we have had numerous powerful thunderstorms and drenching rain. In recalling this memory, I have considered the illogical thoughts of my younger mind. Perhaps the egocentrism of it all as a child, believing that a sheet would somehow stop the lightning if it were to strike, or the desperate need for control in the face of fear, planted the seeds for learning to tolerate distress and seek support and comfort in a storm.

You see, beyond my perception that some bedding would keep me safe, the only other thing that would truly allay my fear was when my older brother, Tony, would come check on me. He’d either invite me to play quietly – without waking our parents – in his room until the storm passed or he would simply reassure me with a smile and a hug that everything would be okay. I preferred hanging out in his big room with his orangish brown shag carpet. It didn’t matter that he had two windows in his room; his distraction and big brotherly love were enough to calm my fears as the storms raged outside.

Polar Opposites, Bound by Love

Tony and I were polar opposites in as many ways as we were similar. He was easygoing and reassuring, while I was anxious and prone to worry. I liked to dance, and he liked to play soccer or baseball. We both loved being around people, laughing, and eating chocolate. We definitely look a lot alike.

Our differences along with our similarities seemed to strengthen our bond. I miss him dearly – the similarities, the differences, and especially his comforting presence during life’s storms.

Storms of the Past Month

The past month or two have been full of overwhelming stress and challenges – storms of a different kind. I’ve felt unsteady, wanting to curl up under the covers and hide until the storms of life pass.

In a moment of vulnerability, I confessed to my mom my deepest fear of facing future losses alone, especially the loss of her and my dad. As an only child, she couldn’t grasp the profound impact of losing Tony on my future grief. I would love to talk to my dad or his last living sibling, my aunt, about it but haven’t yet done so. I’ve talked to Tony in my heart, and while doing so has provided comfort, it has also reinforced my fears of being alone and abandoned in grief, along with my anger at him for dying.

​Check out the podcast episode with Kate as we discuss and normalize anger in grief.​

Why haven’t I talked to Dad or my aunt? Well, avoidance is a familiar dance partner for me.

Dancing in the Rain

Yet, I’m also striving to dance despite the storms. Inspired by dancing in the rain with my own child, I’ve learned to find joy amidst fear and sorrow. When my now adult child was young, we would dance in the rain and watch the lightning. It was through these joyful moments, despite my fear, that I learned to embrace the full spectrum of emotions, finding strength and resilience in the face of adversity.

But embracing joy in the face of grief feels so much harder.

A Shared Fear

Through our interactions, I’ve realized that many of you share this fear of facing bereavement of other losses alone. So, how do we dance in the rain?

I’m referring to both literal and metaphorical storms. There’s nothing like the sensation of being drenched in a downpour to connect us to the present moment, jolting us out of thoughts of the past or future. Just as a physical storm can shatter our world, so too can grief, leaving us to rebuild in its aftermath.

Three Steps to Dancing in the Grief Storm

1. Acknowledge the Dance: Dancing doesn’t change the storm or its destruction. We can still grieve and mourn while learning to live despite the pain.

2. It’s Okay Not to Dance: Some storms are too overwhelming. It’s okay to try and fail, or simply to rest.

3. Dance Together: You don’t have to dance alone. Build a supportive group of friends, loved ones, and other bereaved people. If it feels right, invite your sibling’s spirit to join you. Find comfort in shared experiences. For one way to do this, join us in August!​

4. (Bonus): If it rains, go outside regardless of how you are feeling and maybe in spite of it. As Natasha Bedingfield said so well in her song “Unwritten”:

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken

Rebuilding After the Storm

Grief is a process of reconstructing meaning after it has been shattered, changed, or transformed by loss. With that rebuilding after such a storm, there will certainly be difficulty, pain, and tribulation. There will also be opportunities to incorporate that loss into the new. In no way does this mean we are happy about the storm that leveled our world. Yet, we can build in the ways we want- whether that is to honor, carry, or hold our loss with us or not.

Doing so takes time, practice, patience, and guidance. Stay tuned! I have some opportunities coming soon for you to do so.

In the meantime…

• Listen to the podcast. We will be taking a break for the summer which leaves you time to catch up!

• Follow us on Instagram for tidbits!

• Reply to this email to check in!

Warmly,

How can you support us?

• Listen, follow, like, share, and subscribe to our social media, especially Instagram, and our podcast.

• If so inclined, please leave positive reviews and 5-star ratings of the podcast wherever you listen. This helps tremendously.

• Please support the ongoing efforts of The Broken Pack™ by shopping the Not Done Here™ ‘s sibling loss collection or by making a gift (of which all proceeds go to supporting adult sibling loss survivors).

• Keep reading these newsletters and share with others to help us get the word out!

• If this was forwarded to you, go here to subscribe.

​

​

Podcast

The Broken Pack™: Stories of Adult Sibling Loss

Want to learn more about the podcast episodes? Did you know each episode has its own page? Season 4 has just finished!

Check out the podcast →

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101 N. Meadow Drive, STE # 115, Wexford, PA 15090
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The post Wild Grief: Dancing, Rain, & Thunderstorms first appeared on The Broken Pack.

May 18, 2024

Hello, Reader!

I’m often asked about how long it’s normal to grieve. Patients in my office or grieving siblings like you with whom I interact through The Broken Pack™ ask me if grief will get better over time or when they will “be over grief.”

My heart breaks each and every time I’m asked this question. Sometimes that person is me!

Siblings are supposed to be with us for 80-100% of our lifetimes. Depending on our age at the time of their death and our own longevity we may carry our loss and grieve for a significant portion of the time they were supposed to be alive. They will miss countless events, milestones, celebrations, heartbreak, shared losses, shared joys, and day-to-day interactions. During that time we will likely miss their presence in all of it.

When we hear, or even perhaps in the past have uttered the phrase, “Time heals all wounds,” our present moment experience is invalidated and minimized. Yet, we desperately want to believe it.

If our current moment is filled with heartbreak, loneliness, longing, isolation, despair, and/or other pain, we may begin to wonder, “How can I possibly endure this for the rest of my life?”

Well, the reality is that there is good news and bad news (and probably a whole lot of in between).

Grief cannot be fixed, healed, or repaired.

You may be wondering why not.

First, let’s look at what grief is and what it is not.

Grief is defined as the reaction to both death and non-death loss. It encompasses physical, emotional, cognitive, social, and spiritual domains.

Grief is not simply the sadness and heartbreak. Sure, those are part of but not all of it.

Each of these domains and the range of responses, specifically our unique responses, help us adapt and function in the life after loss. At another time, I will share how every one of these serves to help us live with our grief and in spite of it.

Second, to truly heal grief, we would be saying that either:

a) Our responses are incorrect, invalid, and useless. They are not. They are adaptive, informative, and useful- when we learn to listen to them, use them, and be informed by them.

or

b) We can reverse the loss. To my knowledge, we cannot bring our siblings back in their human bodily form. If you or someone you know possesses the knowledges and ability to do so, please e-mail me ASAP because I have a project or two for you!

So, if time doesn’t heal all wounds of grief and loss, what happens over time?

Well before I get there, let me share what happened to me yesterday. I had a full caseload of patients in my private practice. I was also, in my very limited time, sharing and posting about our latest episode of the podcast with Taylor. (Listen here.) As I went about my afternoon, I noticed I was very jittery.

It was as if I had drunk several cups of coffee. I had not. I felt restless. I could have chalked this up to anxiety – and initially did. But, then I realized that I had had several recent dreams about my brother. I haven’t been sleeping well lately. The fear of having a heart attack in my sleep was creeping back in – seemingly from nowhere. Again, I could chalk this up to anxiety. But, then I paused. Monday is my brother’s birthday and my parents’ wedding anniversary- a day that has been bittersweet since losing Tony in February of 2020.

It all made sense. This seemingly sudden bout of anxiety is a manifestation of my ongoing grief. Society (and even some mental health professionalswould say I should have been “over it” after a year of grieving, and that I should seek help.

That’s ludicrous. How can I be over a loss of someone who was my first friend and who loved me unconditionally?

Over time, I have begun to learn to live with my grief and have noticed my responses aren’t always sad or devastating. I can laugh with it. I can reflect upon my love for Tony and his for me without always shedding a tear. (Trust me, those happen, too.) Some days, the grief reactions are in the background and some days – or even moments- they are very much in the forefront.

This is what happens over time. Grief is ever present. It’s how we adapt and how we learn from grief that changes over time. For example, would you answer these questions differently now after your loss? They may change again over time.

• What boundaries do we set with others?

• How do we spend our time?

• With whom do we connect?

• With whom do we not connect?

• How do we love?

• How do we think?

• How do we move – both physically and psychologically – in the world?

• What changes in our worldview as a result of our loss?

For more on how grief changes over time, please listen to our podcast to bereaved siblings who have been navigating their grief much longer than I have. Here are a just a few of the episodes that align with this topic. And, spoiler alert… None of them are “over their grief” or have “been healed” from it. Click on the episode to listen or learn more.

• ​Season 4, Episode 6 – Randye Sundel/ Mitch – Randye’s brother died 45 + years ago from cancer.

• ​Season 4, Episode 5 – Dawn / Geoff ​– Dawn’s brother was murdered 30+ years ago.

• ​Season 3, Episode 7 – Eric / Kyle – Eric’s brother died in a tragic accident over 25 years ago

• ​Season 2, Episode 9 – Dr. Dawn DiRaimondo / Michael – Dr. DiRaimondo’s brother died while serving in the US military on active duty 20 years ago.

• ​Season 2, Episode 7 – Judy / Jane & Marge – Both of Judy’s sisters died many decades ago.

• ​Season 2, Episode 1 – Dr. Nico Slate / Peter – Dr. Slate’s brother died in a tragic accident nearly 20 years ago.

While it may all seem like bad news that our grief is with us forever, the good news is that it changes over time, and we learn to manage our reactions differently. Our intense responses change and make way for other reactions. Yet, waves of intense grief will surge. We learn to adapt and anchor ourselves differently in the storm. Our responses to our loss, a.k.a grief, are what change over time.

Retreat Special Sale

In just under 90 days, we will be gathering in person at our Sibling Grief Refuge retreat this August.

This retreat will be a transformative experience! Spots are limited! Don’t miss out!

Special Offer Details:

• Tony’s Birthday Special: $1650 (valid through May 20th, 11:59 pm ET)

• Early Bird Pricing: $1799 (ends June 14th)

• Regular Price: $1999 (starting June 15th)

Sign Up Now!​

How can you support us?

• Listen, follow, like, share, and subscribe to our social media, especially Instagram, and our podcast.

• If so inclined, please leave positive reviews and 5-star ratings of the podcast wherever you listen. This helps tremendously.

• Please support the ongoing efforts of The Broken Pack™ by shopping the Not Done Here™ ‘s sibling loss collection or by making a gift (of which all proceeds go to supporting adult sibling loss survivors).

• Join us at Sibling Grief Refuge, our retreat. Learn more here.

• Keep reading these newsletters and share with others to help us get the word out!

• If this was forwarded to you, go here to subscribe.

Warmly,

​

Podcast

The Broken Pack™: Stories of Adult Sibling Loss

Want to learn more about the podcast episodes? Did you know each episode has it’s own page? Season 4 is underway!

Check out the podcast →

​

​

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​

101 N. Meadow Drive, STE # 115, Wexford, PA 15090
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The post Wild Grief: Grief Over Time first appeared on The Broken Pack.

May 10, 2024

Hello, Reader!

These past few weeks have been incredibly busy for me, which has meant a multitude of things, including a delay in sending this newsletter.

It’s a Friday night. In two days, many parts of the world will honor mothers on Mother’s Day. I am delighted to see the growing awareness of how difficult this day can be for many mothers and children, whether they are grieving a dead, living or estranged mom, grandmother, child, pregnancy loss, or infertility. I truly celebrate this increased sensitivity and humility in recent years.

And, I acknowledge that as grieving siblings, many of us also struggle with this day.

Not all situations are the same, so it’s impossible to identify all the ways this day might be difficult for grieving siblings. You may be struggling to see your mother (if living) coping with her loss and changed identity. Or perhaps, your deceased sibling was a mother, and you are struggling with honoring her and supporting her children. Maybe, you are a mom and don’t feel like celebrating. The thought of how to honor your mom without the input of your late sibling could feel overwhelming. (Heck, I struggled before Tony died because the two of us agreeing on what to do for Mom was nearly impossible.) It could be that your mom doesn’t want to celebrate, or vice versa. Perhaps, you want to celebrate but also don’t want to ignore your grief. Possibly your mom is also gone, and not having your sibling to share in that grief compounds your experience.

The situations are endless, and the reactions to them even more so.

Today, I want to share some tips on how to cope with Mother’s Day as a bereaved sibling:

1. Acknowledge your grief. Allow yourself to feel the sadness, anger, or any other emotions that arise. Don’t try to suppress or ignore your feelings. Notice any other responses you may be having. Are you having a physical or spiritual response? Are you experiencing brain fog or thinking about your loss more so than usual?

2. Communicate with your family and chosen family. Talk openly about how you’re feeling and what you need this Mother’s Day. Discuss how you can honor your sibling’s memory together and adjust traditions if necessary.

3. Set boundaries. It’s okay to say “no” to activities that might be too challenging. Protect your energy and prioritize self-care.

4. Create your own rituals. Find meaningful ways to honor your sibling’s memory on this day. You could light a candle, visit their favorite place, or simply spend time reflecting on your relationship.

5. Connect with other grieving siblings, yours or others’. If you are on Instagram, one way to do this is connect with our account, @thebrokenpack. Then, be sure to check out our Instagram story on Sunday to share your experience in response to our question. Sharing your experiences with others who understand can be incredibly comforting. If you wish, you may email me.

6. If you feel joy or other positive emotions,grant yourself to to experience them. While we know it’s okay to not be okay, please remember, it is okay to be okay, as well. This doesn’t mean your grief is over or you aren’t “doing it right.”

7. Don’t compare your grief. Everyone grieves differently. There is no right or wrong way to feel. Be patient with yourself and allow your grief to unfold naturally. It also doesn’t help to compare yourself to yourself from years past, whether this is the first Mother’s Day or the 50th one since your loss. Your grief experience in the moment is valid.

8. Take care of yourself. Prioritize self-care activities that nourish your mind, body, and spirit. Eat nutritious meals, get enough sleep, and engage in activities that nurture your soul.

Last year, I shared a series of tips on Instagram specifically for grieving siblings during Mother’s Day. These tips cover everything from navigating changing family dynamics to communicating your needs to loved ones. You can find the full post below.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by The Broken Pack ™ | sibling loss community (@thebrokenpack)

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Mother’s Day can be a challenging time for bereaved siblings, but it can also be an opportunity for processing grief and connection. Remember, you’re not alone. There are resources available to support you through this difficult time. Reach out to friends, family, a licensed mental health practitioner, or me (although I cannot serve as your therapist).

Want More Support?

If you’re a surviving sibling looking for a safe space to process grief, consider our upcoming Sibling Grief Refuge retreat this August. It’s designed based on evidence-based grief practices and theories to ensure community, grief exploration, comfort, validation, and tools to help you move forward.

Spots are filling up!

Don’t miss your opportunity to join us in the beautiful Laurel Highlands this August.

Have questions? Respond to this email or go to https://thebrokenpack.com/retreat for more information!

Ready to sign-up? Click below!

Register Now!​

How can you support us?

• Listen, follow, like, share, and subscribe to our social media, especially Instagram, and our podcast.

• If so inclined, please leave positive reviews and 5-star ratings of the podcast wherever you listen. This will help us tremendously.

• Please support the ongoing efforts of The Broken Pack™ by shopping the Not Done Here™ ‘s sibling loss collection or by making a gift (of which all proceeds go to supporting adult sibling loss survivors).

• Stay tuned for our announcements!

• Join us at Sibling Grief Refuge, our retreat. Learn more here.

• Keep reading these newsletters and share with others to help us get the word out!

• If this was forwarded to you, go here to subscribe.

Warmly,

​

Podcast

The Broken Pack™: Stories of Adult Sibling Loss

Want to learn more about the podcast episodes? Did you know each episode has it’s own page? Season 4 is underway!

​

Check out the podcast →

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​

​

​

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101 N. Meadow Drive, STE # 115, Wexford, PA 15090
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The post Wild Grief: Mother’s Day as a Grieving Sibling first appeared on The Broken Pack.

April 26, 2024

Hello, Reader!

No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.
​
~ Heraclitus

I have a certain friend who has become famous among his friends and internet acquaintances for posting memes that are a mockery of misheard lyrics sung by Justin Timberlake warning us that “It’s Gonna Be May.” This friend begins posting these sometime in April. (If you don’t know what this weird pop culture behavior is referencing, there is more information here.)

While this is an enjoyable way to interact with my friend and others, in the past four years, it has also become a painful reminder of a certain difficult month and day for me. Ironically, this friend shares the same May birthday as my brother (which is also my parents’ wedding anniversary), has a similar sense of humor and love for certain movies and interests, and in many ways has long felt like a big brother (even though I am older by a few months).

Add in Mother’s Day and Memorial Day (in the US)- two holidays which can be incredibly difficult for grieving people to navigate – and the month could feel like something to dread.

May Flowers

Yet, the Northern Hemisphere bursts with reminders of birth and life. Buds swell on branches, blooms push through the soil, birds and bees hum with activity, and even my 10-month-old puppy, in heat, desperately (if unsuccessfully) seeks a mate.

Seeing the beauty of the world, the reminders of life, and the memories of childhood exploration of Spring outdoors brings such joy for me. Yet, this joy feels bittersweet. It certainly is not happiness. Underneath the pleasant moments are the foundations of loss and grief that will forever be my companion.

I recently re-opened my copy of How to Live When a Loved One Dies: Healing Meditations for Grief and Loss (2021) by Thich Nhat Hanh. In the book are many mindfulness practices and meditations focused on learning to live in both the joy and the sorrow. Holding space for both in the same moment can feel impossible.

Thich Nhat Hanh, in many of his teachings (including the aforementioned book but also elsewhere), used a flower metaphor to explain appreciating life and finding joy. He said that just as we admire a beautiful flower in bloom, we must also accept the necessity of the dead plants and unseen seeds beneath the ground. This metaphor symbolizes how to appreciate life, find joy, etc. and to simultaneously accept the pain and heartache of various seasons or losses.

Please know this does not mean we are happy about the loss, but rather that we accept it as part of our life story. Allowing ourselves to do so makes space for both pain or sorrow and the joy or contentment of living.

It’s easier said than done. With a little self-compassion, we can learn to embrace the full range of experiences- despite the absence of our sibling.

But as we learn to live in the moments, the guilt of surviving diminishes. It may always be there, but that laugh, the smile, and the enjoyment of living will creep in.

Growing in Grief: An Exercise

This week’s exercise:

Take out a piece of paper, something to type in, or the notes app on your phone. Set a timer for five (5) minutes.

• What are three things you did or experienced in the past week that made you smile, laugh, chuckle, or say “aha”? If you can only come up with one, write it down. If you can’t come up with any, what may be the reason?

• Now take the rest of the set timer, and just write about what comes to mind as you reread the list. Are there emotions or thoughts related to this list? Name them.

• Take a two-minute pause to reflect on this exercise.

• What would you tell your sibling about these experiences? Write that down.

• Now, write down how they would respond. Would they be grateful you are laughing, smiling, etc.? Would they be angry? Would they encourage you or want to hear more? Consider how they may show compassion for you in a way you cannot. If you have trouble writing their response, try writing it with your non-dominant hand.

• Reread this the next day and just ponder it. How might you see your experiences differently through your sibling’s lens?

Want More Support?

If you’re a surviving sibling looking for a safe space to process grief, consider our upcoming Sibling Grief Refuge retreat this August. It’s designed based on evidence-based grief practices and theories to ensure community, grief exploration, comfort, validation, and tools to help you move forward.

Spots are filling up!

Don’t miss your opportunity to join us in the beautiful Laurel Highlands this August.

Have questions? Respond to this email or go to https://thebrokenpack.com/retreat for more information!

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Warmly,

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The post Wild Grief: It’s Gonna Be May first appeared on The Broken Pack.

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