Mari posted this to Facebook and Instagram tonight, and with her permission we're sharing it here:
It’s now been eight years without my brother. The grief feels both very old and shockingly new. It is as much a part of my day as brushing my teeth or cooking a meal: constant but also constantly renewed.
I am now fairly comfortable within my loss and my identity of “girl whose brother died.” I know my answer to “How many siblings do you have?” There are days where thinking about him bring back no different feelings than other memories.
Then there are some days still where I am crushed. Crushed by his absence, by the loneliness, by my lost childhood, by the sudden obliteration of his. Days where I can’t breathe or think or sleep or cry because of the emptiness, the injustice that is childhood illness.
It’s important to talk about him. It’s important to talk about loss and grief. I heard someone say about grieving that “it doesn’t necessarily get easier, but it can get lighter.” My hope for you all is that life gets lighter.
I love you Kol. It’s been far too long.
