Take our Depression Test

Find a therapist to heal from grief

A brother or sister holds pieces of your life nobody else ever saw.

Most of us spend years getting ready for the death of our parents, not our siblings.

The death of an adult sibling often fits the definition of "disenfranchised grief."

When I was five, my nine-year-old brother walked me down our short hallway before church, telling me how pretty I looked in my Sunday dress. It was maybe a dozen steps. I'm not sure I've felt that thoroughly admired since.

Thing is, I wasn’t a girly girl. I envied the clothes boys wore. Frills, lace, and pink were not my thing. I wanted what he and my other brother had. So he laced me into his boxing gloves when I complained, loudly and often, that boys got to do all the good stuff. This was the '50s and 60s, when girls got patent leather shoes, potholder weaving looms, and Barbies, while boys got everything else. I don't remember landing a single punch. But I remember that he let me try.

Later came his hand-me-down IZOD shirts, which I wore like a promotion. Other girls got their older sisters' clothes. I got the alligator. I wanted to wear it all the time, but Mom only let me wear it during playtime.

Only the two of us were there for those moments. That's the thing about a brother or sister. They hold pieces of your life nobody else ever saw.

I laughed with him watching movies of our parents’ era: The Three Stooges, Abbott and Costello, and The Little Rascals. He........

© Psychology Today