The Lasting Impact of Early Sibling Loss

'Grief reshapes our identity,' a lesson I learned. Read the Grief Story, 'What Sibling Loss Feels Like 30 Years Later,' by Kat Stano about when the loss comes too soon...

Jun 24, 2025

Welcome to the Grief Stories community! I hope you’ll find this to be a welcoming place where you’ll be able to share experiences, get things off your chest, support one another, ask questions, and chat to people who truly ‘get it’. I invite you to read and share stories of hope and healing; giving a voice to loss and grief. This is a safe place helping us to feel less alone on our journey and providing comfort in hard times.

Lately, I’ve been having conversations with other grievers about one of the most difficult parts of loss — accepting that life doesn’t always unfold the way we imagined. When someone we love is gone too soon, we’re left with unanswered questions, unsaid words, and milestones they’ll never witness. Birthdays, weddings, everyday moments — all changed by their absence.

One of the most difficult parts of loss — accepting that life doesn’t always unfold the way we imagined.

Loss reshapes everything - our world, our expectations, our identity (although we always will be God’s children). And we ask, “Who are we without them?” And struggle to answer innocent questions like, “How many children do you have” or “How many siblings do you have?”

I lost my brother before I was even born. So, does that count? Do I have two brothers — one here, and one in heaven? I was a rainbow baby, and I still wonder… what would life be like if he were still with us? What would he be doing? Where would he live? Would he have children? Would I be a double (or even triple) auntie by now?

Maybe you’ve asked these same questions, too. If so, my heart is with you — especially if you have known grief from an early age, or never got to say goodbye or even hello. With all of you who are wondering who their sibling might have grown up to be, just like Kat. Today, I’m honoured to share her story.

In today’s Grief Stories, Kat Stano, bravely shares about losing her brother John with honesty and tenderness. Her story reminds us that while sibling loss is often overlooked, it has a deep and lasting impact. It changes us. And it deserves to be seen, held, and honoured.

While sibling loss is often overlooked, it has a deep and lasting impact.

I met Kat through a blogging community, and from the beginning, she’s been a kind, empathetic presence — always encouraging with gentle wisdom and grace. Though we live an ocean apart, I’m proud to call her a friend. Grief brought us together, and that in itself is a reminder - even in the pain, connection is possible. We don’t have to walk this road alone.

I’m deeply grateful to Kat for sharing her story, and heart, with such vulnerability. Her words remind us that we can carry our loved ones with us, even as we keep moving forward — finding beauty, meaning, and connections along the way.

Please take a moment to read and reflect on Kat’s story. And if something speaks to you, we’d love to hear from you in the comments.

‘What Sibling Loss Feels Like 30 Years Later’ by Kat Stano

Grief Story #014

2025 is the 30th anniversary of my brother's death and it really is hard to imagine all the time that's gone by. While I never could fathom losing my sibling when we were both so young, I know that it's shaped me in ways that only a loss like this one can do.

If you're grieving someone you lost when you were a child or young person, this piece is dedicated to you and the memory of your loved one. And for those of you who haven't, I hope my story might help you reach out to a friend who's learned grief earlier than most.

My brother, John, was unique. He had an amazing memory for facts, could make a descriptive drawing from just looking at a photograph, and had a wild and wondrous love for nature. Like me, John was an imaginative and introspective thinker, which made life hard for him sometimes. And because of my deeply sensitive sensibilities, my husband says the same thing about me:

"Kat you weren't made for this world." (Oh. Greeeaaattt.)

But as I get older, I really like hearing that. It makes me feel connected to my brother. I understand him more.

One of John's dreams was to travel the scenic west of the U.S., states like Colorado, Arizona, Idaho, Montana, and the Dakotas. The beauty of the landscape and the culture of its original people spoke to his inquisitive heart. He greatly respected its symbolism and peace.

John had bonded with a buddy from church who also was an outdoorsman and someone who was calm and kind to my brother when others would quickly dismiss him. Together, they planned a guys' trip to the west, a long drive from Tennessee to California's coast and back. But John never got to see the Pacific Ocean. And that still hurts.

As they drove deeper into the west, John and his buddy made a stop at the Grand Canyon to traverse the Bright Angel Trail, to stand by the shore of the extraordinary Colorado River, to just be in God's incredible creation.

After a sweltering June hike into the canyon, where John made it down to the bottom before his friend, he decided he would swim the Colorado River. Even knowing its grave dangers, John took the risk to get into the water, to challenge the roaring, raging currents. Up to this point, he'd struggled with depression and other obstacles that most people would never endure or try to comprehend. I believe John had been through so much that he didn't mind taking the chance; that this river wasn't the worst compared to painful torrents of growing up neurodivergent, when no one really knew what that was at the time, when others harshly judged his brilliant differences.

John had just turned 21 the week before he passed away. He went into the river that day and the river released his beautiful soul back into nature where he had always belonged.

That evening in Tennessee, my parents got a phone call that felt so ominous that I sat behind their bedroom door and cried. I knew something was wrong. Shortly after, a police officer came to our front door, confirming that my brother was missing.

Then, things started moving quickly and slowly all at once. Our dear pastor and his wife visited us that night to pray. My grandparents came into town. John appeared in my dreams to assure me everything was going to be okay.

But 21 days later, one for each year of his life, and after many helicopter and ground searches, a rafting tour group located my brother's body. We got a call. And everything we feared suddenly changed us forever.

I would regret not saying goodbye to him. I would regret not wishing him happy birthday while he was on the trip because, in 1995, cell phones were only for emergencies, if you even had one. I would shame myself for not being nicer to him when I had the chance. I would acknowledge that, years later, every 16-year-old kid fights with their siblings. I would still have a hard time forgiving myself even then.

When people say, "We'll all eventually join the grief club," I can generally agree. But, what's not factored in is the when. When you join this club as a child or teenager like I did, you're already in the throes of defining who you are and who you want to be. Adding in a significant loss rearranges everything.

We'll all eventually join the grief club.

I want others struggling with early loss to know that it's okay to give yourself extra grace. While you've watched your peers live long lives with their siblings or parents, you've had to keep going without that core person you needed and wanted to know for much longer. You've been through holidays and regular days just wishing you could share a story or a little bit of time with them. You've wondered what they would've been like today.

What others should know about those who've lost a brother or sister when they were young is, that most people don't think about the siblings. Everyone focuses on the parents, for obviously good reason, but the other kids sometimes fade into the background, helping to comfort their mom and/or dad, trying to tiptoe around emotions, and maybe getting overlooked in between. Sometimes, parents become overly cautious, limiting your activities for fear of losing you, too. Sometimes, they keep you frozen in time, at the age you were when your sibling died. Sometimes, you don't know your place in the order of the family anymore, and you don't know how to answer the question, "Do you have any siblings?"

What others should know about those who've lost a brother or sister when they were young is, that most people don't think about the siblings.

But how I've grown, and how I hope others grow, too, is that loss has given me the ability to really feel, to care about others in ways I might not have if we were all still here. It's connected me with kindred spirits, like Katy, who's graciously given me the opportunity to write my story today. It's made me appreciate all the details of this life and the people and animals I love so much.

I'll never heal from losing my sibling. I'll never know why anything sad happens to any of us. But I'll continue and I'll bring my big brother, John, along with me, too.

Grief Story by Kat Stano

Friend, have you ever struggled to answer a question like “Do you have siblings?” or “How many children do you have?” because of a loss? What emotions come up for you in those moments? In what ways has grief reshaped your identity? If you’ve lost a sibling — or someone close to you early in life — what are some things you wonder about them now?

Grief Stories by Katy Parker from Journeyofsmiley

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