God, I miss my stister and my big brother 💔😭
Wednesday, October 21, 2026
Beloveds,
I’m going to tell you something about grief.
Sometimes there isn’t anything beautiful to say.
Sometimes there isn’t a lesson waiting patiently at the end of your tears.
Sometimes your heart is simply broken.
And all you can manage is:
God, I miss them.
I miss my sister.
My wombie.
My stister.
I miss my big bro.
And today, beloveds, I don’t want to pretend that knowing God loves me makes missing them hurt any less.
Because it hurts.
Oh, how it hurts.
There was a time when my sister and I shared everything.
Before we had names.
Before we had voices.
Before either of us had taken our first breath.
We shared a womb.
Can you imagine that?
Before the world knew there were two of us, there were already two of us.
Together.
And now?
Now I am learning how to live in a world where I cannot reach for her the way I once could.
Where I cannot share another ordinary moment with her.
And do you know what hurts about ordinary moments?
You never know which one will be the last.
The last conversation.
The last laugh.
The last time somebody calls you by a name that sounds different coming from their mouth.
The last time you hear a voice you have known for so long that you cannot remember learning it.
Nobody tells you that the little things will become enormous.
That a memory can make you smile and break your heart before you’ve even finished smiling.
That love can leave you grateful and devastated in the very same breath.
And big bro?
Oh, beloveds.
There are people whose presence becomes part of the furniture of your life.
Not because they are ordinary.
But because you cannot imagine the room without them.
Until one day you find yourself looking at that room differently.
Remembering.
Missing.
Wishing.
Just wishing.
And I have been doing an awful lot of wishing.
I wish I could have another conversation.
I wish I could hear another laugh.
I wish I could tell them about something ridiculous that happened today.
I wish I could say, “You will not BELIEVE what happened!”
And hear their response.
I don’t even need a special occasion.
Give me an ordinary Tuesday.
Give me five minutes.
Give me one more opportunity to say something that doesn’t have to be important.
Because that’s what I am discovering about love.
It doesn’t live only in life’s extraordinary moments.
It lives in the everyday.
And when someone is missing from your everyday, even the smallest things can hurt.
I talked to My Father about that.
Not with carefully arranged sentences.
Not with a sermon.
Not with an explanation of what I have learned.
I came with the same question my heart has been asking.
God, what am I supposed to do with all this love when I cannot give it to them the way I used to?
And perhaps that is one of the hardest things about grief.
The love doesn’t stop.
Your heart doesn’t receive some magical instruction to stop loving because circumstances have changed.
You still love.
You still remember.
You still want to share.
You still reach toward someone who matters to you.
And sometimes there is nowhere for that reaching to go.
So you cry.
You cry because they mattered.
You cry because they still matter.
You cry because there was a life you knew with them in it, and now you are living a life that feels unbearably different.
And beloveds?
Sometimes you cry because you are tired of being brave.
Tired of finding the good.
Tired of making sense of what doesn’t make sense.
Tired of hearing how strong you are when you would give almost anything not to have needed that strength today.
Sometimes you don’t want to be an inspiration.
You just want your sister.
You just want your brother.
You just want the people you love.
I want my people. 💔
And I know My Father hears that.
I know He knows the difference between my questioning His love and my bringing Him a heart that is aching because of love.
So today, I am bringing Him the ache.
Every bit of it.
The memories.
The longing.
The gratitude.
The devastation.
The questions.
The tears that arrive without an invitation.
And the love that refuses to leave.
I don’t have a tidy conclusion for you today, beloveds.
I’m not going to turn my heartbreak into a motivational speech.
I’m not going to tell you that tomorrow will hurt less.
I don’t know what tomorrow will feel like.
What I do know is that today my sister matters.
My big bro matters.
The memories matter.
The ordinary moments matter.
And the person I am becoming while learning to live with their absence matters, too.
Maybe you’re missing somebody today.
Maybe the world has continued turning while a part of yours seems to have stopped.
Maybe you’ve been holding yourself together all morning, and one little thing has finally brought you to tears.
I won’t ask you to turn those tears into a lesson.
I won’t ask you to hurry toward joy.
I will simply sit here with you for a moment.
Because sometimes the most loving thing we can offer another hurting heart is company that doesn’t demand anything.
No explanations.
No performance.
No pretending.
Just room to miss someone.
Room to remember.
Room to cry.
Room to love them still.
And if all you can say today is, “God, I miss them,” then perhaps those four words are enough for this moment.
I know they’re the words in my heart.
God, I just miss them.
😭💔❤️🩹
Cassandra
#YourLifeMattersToMe
