There are landmarks in all of our lives, events that changed everything, events that we will always see as defining a clear “before” and a clear “after.” It occurred to me this week that one of the reasons Thanksgiving is so meaningful to me is that it is one of those dividing lines between a reality I knew and a reality that was, and is, forever changed.

I know that there are some who do not have close relationships with their siblings. They share parents but not connection, or at least not close connection. And I know that there are others who, like me, had the closest of relationships with their siblings as friends, confidants, cheerleaders, truth tellers and partners in crime.

My brother and I were blessed with that closeness. I think it was the mere 18 months that separated us, I think it was our innate sense of responsibility for one another. We shared secrets, we protected each other and, when we got into mischief it was invariably together. Not that we didn’t disagree or argue, not that we didn’t have moments when we disappointed one another, but, at the end of the day, I always knew who would be there for me as he did for him.

Thanksgiving was the last holiday of life “before,” the last time I spoke to him, the last time we made plans to bring our families together just weeks later. It was normal in the way that I knew and expected normal to be, a holiday filled with family and friends and food. And then, days later, a slip, a fall, an accident, a phone call and nothing would ever again be the same.

I know that some people have the ability to “just get over it” and I have to acknowledge that I am not one of those people. I have accepted the loss of my parents. I miss them and wish that they had lived to be a part of our lives, to see their grandchildren and great grandchildren. But the loss of my brother, even years later, is still a wound that has never fully healed. At the time I remember describing it as someone rending the fabric of my life, leaving raw and raveled edges that could never be fully mended.

So Thanksgiving is that punctuation in my life. It is the joy of being with those we love. It is the pleasure of sharing a meal and swapping stories. It is the privilege of watching children becoming adults with babies of their own. And it is remembering to be grateful for all those we care about because, as we know too well, life can change forever in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

Balancing grief with gratitude, knowing how blessed I was to have had my brother in my life, even if it was for all too short a time. Joy and sorrow, laughter and tears—all a part of holding a full heart.