There is no question that I was a very naive child. Truth be told, I think I was naive well into my adult life and, in some aspects, maybe I still am. When I was a child, I was certain that the people I loved would be with me forever. And while there was loss in our family, and grief, it never really understood that it could happen to me.

The weekend before Mom died, both my brother and I had flown in. We were 24 and 25. I was married with a child, he was in a long term relationship. We thought we were adults but I know, now, that we were far from it.

We saw Mom in the hospital and both of us were heading home that Sunday, he to New York and me to Wisconsin. We kissed her, told her we would see her soon. We got in the elevator and both, spontaneously, fell apart. With tears streaming, we held each other and I remember saying “We will never see her again.” The elevator doors opened onto the lobby, we dried our faces and we went right back to pretending that everything would be alright.

When my brother called to tell me that Dad had died, that the home health aide had found him in his house, clearly have died in his sleep, I accused him of lying to me. “I don’t believe you, I don’t believe you,” I said over and over. He just waited until I finally stopped to listen, often knowing and understanding me better than I did myself.

I’ve said it so many times, that the loss that I still have not accepted, nearly 25 years later, is the loss of my brother. There was never any question in my mind that we would grow old together, filling in the gaps in each other’s stories, laughing and crying at our memories, rejoicing in our children and their children.

This weekend I had the opportunity to be with family I don’t often see, connecting and re-connecting and that was truly a gift. One of my cousins passed away last year and his sister and I talked about the loss of a beloved sibling and the hole it leaves in your life, a hole in your past, present and future.

She and her brother were close as my brother and I were close. And yet, I know so many people who don’t have that kind of relationship with their siblings. Maybe it is the difference in ages or personalities, interests or choices but I’ve talked to those who certainly are saddened by the loss of a sibling, but who don’t define it as a crucible moment in their lives, a moment after which nothing will ever be the same.

Loss is loss and everyone’s has meaning but the nature of the relationship does, I think, play a major role in the impact it has on your life, on the sense of loss and on the intensity, and duration of grief.

I’ve sometimes thought that those who did not have those interconnected relationships with a sibling have been able to move on from that loss, to remember them certainly but not to live with the same kind of enduring grief. And I’ve wondered if it is a blessing or a curse, to love so deeply that loss can only endure, to have such strong ties that the fabric of your life, after loss, is forever ripped apart.

There is no right or wrong. We are the people that we are in the relationships that we have. And grief, too, is an element of filling our full hearts.