A Year of Grief: Remembering My Youngest Sister Dewanna
It’s hard to believe that a year has passed since I lost my youngest sister Dewanna. On April 5, 2024, my life changed forever. Time, in its relentless march, has a way of both standing still and rushing forward. In the days following her passing, I felt as if I were trapped in a moment that would never end, and yet here I am, a year later, still trying to make sense of a world that feels forever altered.
The first few months after her loss was a blur. I remember the shock washing over me, leaving me numb. I went through the motions of life—going to work, going home, going to work, going home all while mentally and physical preparing for my deployment, DJ’s senior year of college, worrying about my parents, and my nephew Carter, yet nothing felt real. I often found myself staring into space, lost in memories of her laughter, her inspirations, and the bright light she brought into my life. Oh and let’s not forget her brutal honesty, she was always the person to tell me things that I really needed to hear.
As the months rolled on, the reality of her absence began to sink in. I started to understand that grief isn’t a linear journey; it spirals and flows. There are highs and there are definitely some lows. Some days, I could almost convince myself that she was just a phone call away, that I could share a crazy story or ask for her advice. Other days, the weight of her absence was so heavy that I could hardly breathe.
In those early days of grief, I searched for signs of her, I attended therapy, and was very angry with God for a long period (Of course, I know that questioning God’s timing is not my place, but this lost hit me incredibly hard). I looked for her in the little things—the way the sun filtered through the trees, the song that played on the radio, or a fleeting thought that reminded me of her. I found solace in these moments, believing that she was with me in spirit, encouraging me to carry on even though this has been the absolute hardest thing that I ever had to do.
Although, I have spent the majority of the 12 months at sea (currently deployed) as the year progressed, I began to embrace the idea of honoring her memory.
I’ve also learned that it’s okay to feel joy again. Grief can sometimes feel like a betrayal when a moment of happiness interrupts the sadness. But I’ve come to realize that embracing joy doesn’t diminish my love for her; rather, it honors her memory. Keeping her memories alive is crucial not only for me but for my nephew who only 10 years old. She wouldn’t want me to be trapped in sorrow; she would want me to live fully, to find beauty in everyday moments, and to cherish the relationships we built together.
As I reflect on this past year, I acknowledge that grief is a lifelong journey. Some days will be harder than others, and that’s perfectly okay. I’ve learned to be gentle with myself, allowing space for sadness while also welcoming joy. I carry her with me in my heart, in the stories I share, and in the love I extend to others.
To anyone else who is navigating a similar journey, remember that you are not alone. Grief is a testament to love, and although it may feel overwhelming, it is also a reminder of the deep connections we share with those we’ve lost. Take your time, honor your feelings, and find ways to celebrate the life of your loved ones. In doing so, we keep their spirit alive, weaving them into the fabric of our lives.
A year later sometimes feels like yesterday, I still grieve for my sister, but I also celebrate her. I carry her memory with me as I step into each new day, knowing that she will always be a part of who I am.
Dewanna I miss you soo incredibly much.
How have you handled your grief? Let’s talk about it, subscribe and comment below if you have any recommendations.
