Be soft. Do not let the world make your hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let bitterness steal your sweetness - KURT VONNEGUT

Every journey through loss is as unique as one's fingerprint, for we experience different beliefs, different desires, different needs, different tolerances, and often we walk different roads. Though we may not see anyone else on the path, we are never truly alone for more walk behind, beside, and in front of us. In this chapter lies the answers to the final question posed: What would you like the world to know about your grief journey?

EMILY BAIRD-LEVINE

Emily's 43-year-old brother Don died from a heart attack in 2004

My grief journey has been a rollercoaster of ups and downs. It has definitely forced me to become stronger and more resilient. It has reminded me to keep going forward, to be grateful, and to be compassionate for others who also grieve. All the while, I try to keep in the forefront that everyone's journey is their own and there are no time limits on grief. It is a long-term process that doesn't goaway, but merely morphs over time. Sometimes, it feels like it goes back to the moment when Don took his last breath, and sometimes it feels like the almost eleven years since he died. I never know when a memory, good or bad, will bring streams of tears or bursts of laughter thinking of my wonderful and silly brother.

CHRISTINE BASTONE

Christine's 38-year-old sister Liz died by suicide in 2012

What I would like the world to know is that losing a sibling is a huge loss. My sister was a part of who I am. I lost a piece of myself. I also lost a piece of my past, a piece of our history of growing up together is gone now. I lost a piece of my present...our relationship when we became adults, the one we had when she died. And I lost a piece of my future, we were supposed to grow old together.

Many siblings feel like it is one of their jobs to protect each other. So then when a sibling dies, we have obviously failed at that job somewhere. I don't think that I quite realized that I felt this way until after Liz died. And even though my head tells me that there's no way I could have known, and that there is likely nothing that I could have done, my heart feels like I completely failed at my "job" of protecting my youngest sister. I expect my heart to always feel that way. I do not expect that to change and that's okay.

Us siblings feel very deeply for the pain of our parents, and actually for any parent who has lost a child, but most of all for our own. We wish we could take that pain away, but we also suffered a huge loss, and people need to remember that. Because sometimes that huge loss is minimized, or even dismissed.

My sister was a parallel traveler in my life, and I lost that traveler. That loss was very shocking. I fully expected her to always be there. And it didn't matter whether or not I had tons of contact with her, or whether or not the relationship was difficult. She's still my sister; that fact trumps all of that. That fact trumps everything!

Liz lived in Ohio; I live in Florida. So for the last seventeen years of her life we didn't see each other all that much. But even so, I still very keenly feel my loss.

Liz could be difficult. We weren't always close. And we didn't always have the best relationship. But I know that the sibling bond is much stronger and deeper than those things. Liz was always my "baby sister," no matter how old she got. And even now that she's no longer here in this physical world, she is still my "baby sister," and always will be.

SHANNON BOOS

Shannon's 21-year-old brother Kevin was killed by two drunk drivers in 2015

I would like the world to know that losing Kevin is something that has affected me permanently, and has forever changed who I am as a person. This isn't a break up with a boyfriend, this isn't a broken bone — half my soul has left my body and I can't find it.

Whether a stranger, a friend, an acquaintance, or a family member is reading this, you should know that my grief isn't going to go away. I will never "get over it." I will never "move on."

I wrote a poem to express how my grief has impacted me, and how it affects me every day. I wrote it for myself, because writing has always been an outlet for me. I wrote it for others who are on this horrible journey with me, so they know they're not alone.

But mostly, I wrote it for those who tell me to move on, who think that this is something I could possibly get over. I wrote it for those who are so fortunate to never have felt pain like this, hoping that maybe they can try to understand.

Grief.

It may sound like a calm, somber feeling to you. It sounds s It sounds like smooth waves that strike you above your stom when days are hard.

But grief is relentless and unforgiving.

It is still waters suddenly erupting into towering wave knocking you to the ground, leaving your lungs full of water, no sure which way is up.

Grief is not sleeping soundly in the night, waking up with a few tears.

It is being torn to consciousness as Pain decides to dig its claws into your chest, daring you to try to breathe.

Grief is not a cloud that hangs over your head.

It is shackles tied to your ankles, your arms, your neck, your heart, confining you to the pain, when all you want to do is live free again.

Grief is not being surrounded by love and those you rely on holding you up.

It is turning around two weeks after he's gone, screaming into an empty room because there's no one there but yourself.

Grief is not a nightmare or two at night.

It is waking up with a pounding heart, thankful that this was all just a dream.

And then you realize that it wasn't just a dream.

This is real.

This is your new life.

And you have to live with it. Every. Single. Day.

Forever.

LISA FORESTBIRD

Lisa's 40-year-old brother Rob died from a pontine hemorrhage in 2006

Rob passed away when he was transporting my Miata from the Midwest to Washington. He died in service to his sister. That created a special bond between us in his death. After our loss, I canceled my plans to relocate back to the West Coast. But then, just a year before the first anniversary of his passing, I got an exciting work opportunity in Washington. It was tempting to remain close to family, but my parents encouraged me to answer the call and embark on adventure, as had my brother both in his death and in his life. On the exact day of Rob's one year anniversary, I found myself surrounded by new faces, but in the familiar field of sunflowers I had encountered in the funeral home. I was on a journey in a new town, two thousand miles from home. I shed many tears but coped with my loss by living life, as full as I could.

Now, just a year shy of the tenth anniversary of Rob's passing, I have become a first time homeowner, and share the same street number as my parents, 1536. That was a sign I was home again. I know my parents will visit me a lot, but when the time comes, I will have peace knowing that I am exactly where I was meant to be.

BONNIE FORSHEY

Bonnie's 54-year-old sister Eunice died from bladder cancer in 2010

I miss my sister, and have become very outspoken about bladder cancer. If my sister would have gone to the doctor earlier, she might still be alive today. Everyone should educate themselves about this disease.

LAURA HABEDANK

Laura's brother Brian died by suicide in 2010 at age 35

If there is one thing I have learned, it is that there is no right or wrong way to grieve the loss of a loved one. Everyone is different, and what worked for me might not work for another. But sooner or later it does need to be dealt with.

I met a woman in the support group one evening who had lost someone close to her to suicide fifteen years earlier, but had never really allowed herself to grieve. She continued to push her feelings aside year after year, and eventually ended up hospitalized after having a nervous breakdown. She shared with us that she wished she had addressed her feelings years earlier.

There's also no set timeline for grief. The five stages of grief outlined by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance) can happen in any order, over and over and in combination with one another. I still find myself experiencing all of these stages, sometimes all in a single day, even five years later. I would want people to know that they should never force themselves, or anyone else, to move through grief any faster than what feels natural to them. There is never an appropriate time to tell someone, "You should be over it by now." The thing is, you don't ever get over it. You get through it and you get better at dealing with it, but you never get over it.

Having my brother choose to die left me feeling abandoned. I once asked him, knowing full well how deeply he was suffering, to promise me he wouldn't leave me. He told me he couldn't promise that. In hindsight, I regret asking that of him, because I know that had that same question been posed to me in the middle of a suicidal episode, I'd have been unable to promise it myself and would have resented anyone who asked it of me. But having been left behind like this, I've become increasingly afraid of abandonment and am working on that as it has certainly complicated some of my relationships and, sadly, even ended a few. I began going to support group meetings for suicide survivors only two weeks after Brian's death, not only because I really needed to talk openly about it, but also because all of my family and closest friends were 1,200 miles away. I desperately wanted to be around others who understood what I was going through. It was so important for mearound others who understood what I was going through. It was so important for me to find a support group specific to suicide, because I don't think I could have been nearly as open about my feelings about my brother's choice to end his own life while surrounded by people who were grieving the losses of people who fought valiant battles against cancer or were tragically killed in an accident. Death is death, but there was something so valuable to be shared among a group of survivors who had to deal with the fact that their loved ones chose to die. I'd also like people to know that a little support toward a grieving friend can go a long, long way. Even if you don't have the perfect words to say (because often those words just don't exist), just being there to listen is such an incredible gift.

MARCELLA MALONE

Marcella's 20-year-old brother Michael died by suicide in 2014

My grief journey since Michael's death has definitely been an emotional rollercoaster. It's given me a new outlook on the world and helped me to better read the unspoken emotions of those around me. It's given me a new understanding on what I'm learning as I finish up my psychology degree, and, most importantly it has taught me a couple of important lessons.

The biggest thing I learned, and am still learning, is to not be afraid to talk about things. It is very unhealthy to hold your emotions in and appear to be something you're not. Talking about Michael's life helps me keep his memory alive and helps others to understand the depth of our loss. Talking about the impact of how he left this earth and how I'm coping with it has helped me to heal and shown me who is really there for me. Through conversation I have found a support that I could have never found myself through strangers and those close to me. Your journey should not be alone.

It also taught me the absolute value of those you love, and every day you are given together. It taught me not to hold grudges and to never miss an opportunity to tell someone how you feel about him or her. Life is way too short.

The biggest lesson it taught me was to never judge a book by its cover. Everyone has struggles, and frequently those who are better at hiding them are suffering a harder battle. It takes only a few seconds to be kind, and it's so worth it. With this positivity, I also want to tell readers that grief takes time. It's been almost nineteen months but it still feels like yesterday. Don't let others' expectations that you should feel fine cause you to suppress yourfeelings. Your journey is your own. Cry when you need to, talk when you need to, laugh when you need to, and be angry when you need to. It will pass until the next episode occurs. This is the hardest part of grief.

Nobody likes to talk about death, but I'm grateful that this book has given me the opportunity to talk about Michael. As the sibling, I frequently feel like my grief is overshadowed. The pain my brother's death has brought my parents is unimaginable, and as I have become a parent since his loss, I have a stronger sense of that loss. I am there for my parents at every opportunity, and always will be. It feels wrong for me to say that some days I wish people would see the impact the loss of my brother and best friend has had on me. Before becoming a parent, outliving him was always my bigger fear. I still can't imagine the big events of my future without him. Every day I'm asked about how my parents are since his death, but no one has asked me since the funeral. I answer their questions with a smile on my face, but it has given me the incentive to always check on the siblings after a loss, and let them know I'm thinking of them. I know it would mean the world if someone did the same for me. To whoever is reading this, your pain and your journey matter. I may not know you, but I love you, and I am always thinking and praying for you.

BROOKE NINNI MATTHEWS

Brooke's 31-year-old brother Timothy died by homicide in 2012

When you lose a loved one to murder it's a loss that is so hard to fathom, and the grievers don't have anyone to turn to or talk to because many just don't understand that kind of loss. I've had many, many sleepless nights, even after creeping up on four years since the murder. I lay in bed many nights trying to close my eyes to sleep, and at that very moment I picture in my mind the how, what, why, the blood, his body, his last words. You name it, it comes to mind. It gets very frustrating to not only see that society doesn't understand your feelings, thoughts and pain, but also family and friends. I try to spread homicide awareness around to others, but even that is so difficult because it's almost nonexistent. I search high and low for homicide awareness items and such and there is nothing out there. There is awareness stuff out there, but absolutely nothing for homicide. I always said a sibling who has lost a sibling is the forgotten griever, and a griever who lost a loved one to homicide is the silent griever.

MICHAEL SMITH

Michael's 39-year-old brother Patrick was killed by an impaired driver in 2007

You will never be the same. You will adapt, learn to cope, and move forward. But you will never be the same, and you shouldn't expect to. If you are lucky, as I was, you will change a little into a more mature version of yourself that looks to the future but remembers the past.

DAWN WOINOVICK

Dawn's 52-year-old brother Todd died from cancer in 2013

Once it starts, remember the word "journey," because there is no destination. It's a complete ride all the way through. Yes, you will have great days and yes, you will have days you feel so alone you want to die. But hold on tight during those alone days, because they will become less and less. There are so many levels and feelings in grief, and grief healing of the heart. That piece of your heart that belonged to that loved one? They took it with them and left you with a piece of theirs. But you have to uncover a lot of pain, tears, hurt, anger, and more to find that beautiful treasure they left with you.

So may your journey be blessed, and may you unearth that piece they left for you. I am truly sorry for the pain and sadness you're going to endure, just don't ever quit because they didn't leave you empty handed.

pp.197-207. Reprint excerpted from "Grief Diaries | Surviving Loss of a Sibling : True stories about finding healing and hope after loss of a sibling" by Lynda Childelin Fell and Christine Bastone. Published by AllyBlue Media,. Copyright 2015.