🖤 Grief Doesn’t Expire

 

🖤 Grief Doesn’t Expire

I’m just 28 years old, but I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything harder than trying to move on from losing my sister.

And I’m not sure I ever truly will.

 

Grief doesn’t expire. It doesn’t clock out. It doesn’t gently fade like they say it will. Some days, I wake up thinking I’ve made progress — like I’ve learned to carry the loss a little better. But then a memory hits, or a moment breaks open, and I’m right back at the start.

 

For me, two of the biggest heartbreaks of my life collided. I lost Empress — my sister, my closest friend, the one person who made everything feel a little less heavy. And just a few months later, I lost the girl I thought I was going to spend forever with. A 7-year relationship, gone.

And so I’ve been grieving two people at once.

 

It’s like my mind takes shifts between them.
One day, I’m mourning my sister, trying to push through the ache. Then out of nowhere, a video of my ex shows up on my screen — and suddenly I’m pulled right back into the weight of that heartbreak too. That day becomes a tug-of-war. Between memories. Between emotions. Between strength and survival.

And I try… God knows I try.
To stay focused.
To chase my goals.
To smile.
To be okay.

But there’s a question that keeps coming back to me, in the quiet moments:
Is it really worth it?

Is it worth living if every day feels like surviving one wave of pain just to meet the next?

I hear people say “time heals everything.” But what does healing even feel like?
When will I know that I’m healing?

When will I stop crying because a song reminded me of her?
When will a simple T-shirt she once stole from me stop feeling like a dagger in my chest?

Sometimes, the things that trigger it seem so small… but they open such a massive hole in me. A lyric. A joke. A smell. A room. A dream. All of it brings her back — and takes me down.

Empress wasn’t just a sibling. She was in every fibre of my life.
From visiting me during boarding school — always the first person through that gate on visiting day — to spoiling me with provisions and love, to just being the one person who saw me. Really saw me.

 

I’ve said this before in past posts, but it never feels like enough. No single paragraph or tribute could sum up the space she took in my life… or the one she left behind.

Even music — my biggest escape — isn’t safe anymore.

I’ll be vibing, thinking I’m okay, then a song hits a lyric about loss… and my throat tightens, my heart drops, and here comes the tears again. Quiet. Sudden. Heavy.

So I guess what I’m really asking is:

Will it ever stop hurting?
Will I wake up one day and hear an emotional song… and just smile, instead of breaking?

Will I ever talk about her — to friends, to future kids, to strangers — without my voice cracking?

I know she would’ve loved my future children. She would’ve spoiled them, protected them, made them feel safe — the same way she did for me. And that’s what breaks me sometimes. Knowing they’ll never meet the woman who shaped the best parts of me.

I’m trying.
I’m surviving.
But I’m lost.
And the truth is, I don’t think grief ever really leaves.
We just learn how to walk beside it, and hope it gets a little quieter over time.

For Empress, always.

— Jaes