Days ago one of the staff in our organization lost her sister after a long and valiant fight against cancer. I went to the visitation and looked at a roomful of mourners, at a woman too young to be in a casket, at photos on screens and displays, all showing someone full of life and energy, connected to family.

And while I did not know her, I know her sister and her grief has been evident, and overwhelming, for weeks. It is clear that this loss will leave a hole that cannot be filled.

I know this kind of pain too well and too intimately. And I did not realize how close to home it hit until I came home much later in the day. My husband looked at me and asked what was going on, why I looked pale and weary. I realized that it had been the funeral, that I was so affected by this woman losing her sister. He looked at me for a moment and said,n with both love and understanding. “That is your kryptonite.” And it is.

It will be 24 years on December 1 since I lost my brother. For a long time, the first of every month made my heart clench with pain. Today, the shadow of loss descends sometimes in November as I feel that anniversary approaching.

There are so many people who clearly cannot relate to this kind of enduring mourning for a sibling. They don’t have, or didn’t have, close relationships with their brothers or sisters. They are family but perhaps not close. Maybe there is a wide age span or very differing personalities. I truly understand that.

And I know that I was blessed to have a sibling who was not just my brother but my best friend, my confidant, my partner in crime. Who knows why we were so fortunate? Maybe it was because we were just a year and a half apart in age. Maybe it was because we were children of much older parents and needed to help “raise” one another. Maybe it is because the challenges of living with our relatively volatile father required both of us to navigate them.

I don’t know. But what I do know is that he was my best friend from the moment of his birth. We shared secrets, we fought, we plotted, we laughed and we supported each other. We buried both of our parents and we recognized, and appreciated, that we were all that was left of our family of birth. When I struggled through the end of my first marriage, he was the person who held my hand, both literally and figuratively. He was the ultimate uncle to my children and my joy when I became an aunt knew no bounds. Challenges and successes, laugher and tears, we were each other’s “person” until his life ended, unexpectedly and far too soon.

I know that there are those who cannot understand why I haven’t been able to “get over it.” The reality is that as long as I live, I never will. Losing my brother tore a hole in the fabric of my life, a hole that there is no way to repair. And, in many ways, I am okay with that. Holding him in my heart and my thoughts every day is a way to keep him alive, to preserve the essence of the extraordinary person that he was.

Yes, sibling loss is my kryptonite. Watching someone lose a beloved sister or brother brings all the emotions to the surface. Yet, while there is pain, there is also gratitude. You cannot have great loss without great love and that, in itself, is a gift. My heart aches but my heart is also full.