Missing My Sister Every Day: A Reflection on Grief and Love

I Miss My Sister Every Day

There are days when grief feels like a wave crashing over me, sudden and overwhelming. But most days, it comes quietly — in the little moments, in the silence of the night when the kids are asleep, or in the way her daughter looks at me. That face, so familiar, makes me miss my sister even more.

I lost my sister on 6 August 2022, and not a single day has passed without me missing her. She was more than a sister — she was strength, love, and guidance wrapped into one. And now, her absence is a space I carry with me always.

Missing Her Through Her Daughter

Every time I look at her little girl, I miss her in a new way. Her daughter is a mirror of her — not just in appearance, but in spirit too. The spark in her eyes, the strength in her character, the way she carries herself — she is truly her mother’s daughter.

It’s a blessing and a heartbreak at the same time. A blessing because it feels like a part of my sister is still with us, alive in her child. A heartbreak because it reminds me of what we lost — the voice, the laughter, the presence that no child can replace.

I miss my sister every day, but especially in those moments when I see so much of her in her little girl.

A Family Reshaped

I come from a family of six: my oldest brother, then my sister who passed, followed by my second brother, me, and finally the twins. When my sister died, the entire family was stunned into silence. She had always been the strongest of us, the one who seemed unshakable.

And then suddenly, she was gone. As the oldest female left, I had to face responsibilities I never thought I’d carry. Her children needed someone to stand in the gap. My own children still needed me. And the weight of being the one who had to “hold things together” became heavier than I could ever describe.

Carrying Her Children Along With Mine

When she passed, the reality was harsh and immediate. Her kids — two young girls and an 11-year-old disabled boy — couldn’t be left without support. Leaving them in the care of a 21-year-old with no plan or stability was simply unthinkable.

I knew too well what it meant to grow up without a mother. I had lived through the ache of having no one in your corner, and I couldn’t let her children live through the same. So I stepped in, not because I was ready, not because it was easy, but because love demanded it.

The Pain of Being Misunderstood

What made the loss even harder was being accused of having ulterior motives. To be told I was benefitting from the situation when, in truth, I had lost my sister — a piece of myself — was painful beyond words.

Grief is already heavy, but being misunderstood made it feel like I was carrying that weight alone.

My Sister’s Strength vs. My Quiet Way

My sister’s strength was unmatched. She could hold things together in ways I still can’t fully explain. She was bold, unshaken, and resilient.

I’ve never been like that. When I’m hurting, I go quiet. I withdraw, I detach, I process in silence. For a long time, I thought that made me weaker. But I’ve since realised that grief looks different for each of us. My sister’s strength was loud and visible; mine is quiet and enduring. Both matter.

Living With Her Absence

I miss her every single day. I miss her voice, her laughter, her presence. I miss being able to call her, to lean on her, to simply know she was there.

Her daughter reminds me so much of her, and while that reminder brings comfort, it also deepens the ache. It’s proof that my sister lives on — but it’s also a reminder that she isn’t here in the way I long for.

Holding On to Love

Losing my sister on 6 August 2022 left a wound that will never fully heal. But through her children, especially her little girl who carries her so beautifully, I am reminded that love never really leaves.

I miss her every day. And maybe that’s what grief is — not the end of love, but proof of how deeply love remains, even in absence.