Grief is hard for everyone. It doesn’t matter who you are, what you’ve been through, or how strong you think you are — losing someone you love shakes you. This past weekend, my wife’s family lost her brother, Alvin (Al). As we’ve been processing that loss together, I’ve found myself reflecting on my sister, Yvez, who passed in early 2017.
The grief I feel for each of them is different, not because one life mattered more than the other, but because my relationship with each of them was different.
I knew my sister for all of her 40 years. She was my best friend, my confidant, my road dog, my travel partner before my wife came along. She was the person who could walk into a room and immediately find the one person who wasn’t having fun — and go check on them. She had a gift for seeing people.
Alvin, on the other hand, was someone I mostly saw in family settings. We didn’t spend a lot of time one‑on‑one, but I watched him closely enough to see the similarities between him and my sister. They were both social butterflies. They both worked in public‑serving roles, which made them open, approachable, and able to talk to anyone. They both stood out in a crowd. Alvin was the guy who always had something funny to say to lighten the mood. Yvez was the one who made sure no one felt left out.
They cared deeply. They loved hard. And sometimes, they took on more than they could carry — because that’s what happens when your heart is big and your instinct is to show up for everyone.
I like to imagine them both in heaven now, looking down on us and especially on the children they raised — Alvin’s son and daughter, and my sister’s son. I know they’re proud.
A Survivor’s Perspective — Not Better, Not Worse, Just Different
I want to be clear: grief is universal. My wife’s family is hurting. My family has hurt. Anyone who has lost someone knows that pain.
But as a traumatic brain injury survivor, I’ve learned that grief can feel different after your life has already been turned upside down once. Emotions can move slower. They can hit harder. They can show up unexpectedly. And sometimes, the mental energy it takes to process loss feels heavier because you’re already carrying so much.
This isn’t about comparing grief. It’s about explaining the lens I see it through.
Survivors live with unpredictability every day — memory changes, emotional shifts, cognitive fatigue, moments when the world feels unfamiliar. So when loss comes, it can stir up layers that others may not see. Not more pain. Not less pain. Just… different.
And that’s okay. Everyone’s grief deserves space.
What Alvin and Yvez Taught Me About Living
If there’s one thing both Alvin and Yvez taught me, it’s this: life is unpredictable, but it’s also beautiful. They lived boldly. They loved loudly. They made people feel seen.
And that’s something anyone — survivor or not — can take to heart.
We don’t know what tomorrow will look like. We don’t know how much time we have. But we do know this:
We need to make the most of the time we’re given.
We need to love the people we have while we have them.
We need to honor the ones we’ve lost by living in a way that reflects the best parts of them.
Moving Forward Together
Loss changes us. It slows us down, softens us, sharpens us, and sometimes breaks us open in ways we didn’t expect. But it also reminds us of what matters most.
For survivors, that might mean taking one small step forward even when the world feels heavy or confusing.
For non‑survivors, it might mean offering patience, presence, or understanding to someone who processes grief differently.
For all of us, it means choosing to live with intention.
We can’t control how much time we get.
We can’t predict what tomorrow will bring.
But we can decide to live in a way that honors the people we’ve lost — by loving deeply, showing up fully, and making the most of the days we’re given.
That’s how we keep their light alive.
That’s how we keep moving forward.
That’s how we live without regret.
Keep fighting survivors!