“The sky still holds your name” by Amna Khan, 16

The sky still holds your name

There are moments in life that split time into a “Before” and an “after”. For me, that moment was the day I lost my cousin. He wasn’t just a relative, he was my best friend, my role model, and more than anything, he was like a brother to me. We grew side by side, sharing birthdays, secrets, and dreams for the future. When he went to China to study medicine, I cheered him on with pride. I believed so deeply in his ability to help people, to change the world. But then, out of nowhere, he passed away from a heart attack. He was young, healthy, and full of potential. His death shook me to my core. It didn’t just break my heart, it shattered my health, my emotions, and my entire sense of reality. This is the story of how that grief affected every part of me, and how I've tried to hold on to his memory while learning to heal.

The day I found out still plays in my head like a movie scene. I was going through a regular day when the phone rang. I picked it up, not knowing that in the next few seconds, my entire world would change. The voice on the other end was trembling, and the words barley came out: “He had a heart attack... he didn’t make it.” I froze. For a few seconds, I truly thought I was dreaming. He was only 21, active, smart, with no major health issues that we knew of. I kept repeating, “No, that’s not possible. You must be mistaken.” but it wasn’t a mistake. The truth was too real, and it hit me like a tidal wave. I fell and stared into nothing. The world around me moved, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Something inside me had gone silent.

The days after his death felt like I was moving through water. Everything was slow, heavy, and numb. I couldn’t sleep, and when I did, I saw him, I saw my cousin who was not my cousin but my brother. He kept asking for help and I was hopeless. I didn’t eat, because food felt meaningless. I didn’t talk much, because there were no words big enough to explain what I was feeling. Grief took over my body. I was tired all the time. My chest constantly felt tight, like I

was holding in a cry that wouldn’t come out. My emotions bounced wildly between sadness, anger, confusion, and guilt. I kept wondering if I could’ve done something called more, messaged more, told my brother how proud I was one more time. The pain became a physical weight I carried around daily. Even through people were around me, I felt completely alone. No one could fully understand what I had lost.

Eventually, life demanded that I return to “normal.” I went back to school, tried to do homework, tried to laugh when someone made a joke, but it all felt fake. Inside, I was still broken. I would zone out during class, barely able to concentrate. Sometimes, I’d go to the bathroom just to cry in private. Other times, I'd keep everything bottled up, pretending I was okay so I wouldn’t make people uncomfortable. Every little thing reminded me of my brother, the books he liked, our favorite snacks, his texts that I still had saved on my phone. I’d open our old messages just to feel close to my brother again. Some days, the sadness was so heavy that I couldn’t even get out of bed. I felt disconnected from the world, like I was living in a version of life that had lost all its color.

As times passed, the sharp pain of grief softened into something quieter but still constant, a kind of ache that never fully goes away. But in that pain, I also found something I didn’t expect: Strength. My cousin had always been driven by his purpose to help others. He didn’t just want to be a doctor; he wanted to heal people’s lives. I started to ask myself how I could live in a way that honored my brother I began journaling my feelings, trying to understand my own healing process. I started appreciating the small thing more, the people around me, moments of peace, memories of love. I realized that even though grief is painful, it’s also proof that we truly loved someone. My brother’s life may have ended too soon, but his legacy lives on in me. He taught me to live more fully, to be more kind, and to never take time for granted.

During my darkest moments, the people in my life helped me carry through. My family gave me space to grieve without pressure. They let me talk when I needed to, and they sat in silence with me when I didn’t have the words. My friends reached out constantly, even when I pulled away. They reminded me that I was not alone, even when I felt like I was. I also found support in therapy. At first, I was nervous to talk to strangers about my feelings, but it became one of the best decisions I've made. Therapy helped me give names to the emotions I was experiencing, grief, guilt, anger, fear and helped me process them in a healthy way. Through that support system, I began to slowly rebuild myself. I wasn’t the same as before, but I was healing. And that healing was possible because I didn’t have to do it alone. But a part of me will never heal.

Losing my cousin was the most painful experience of my life. His death affected me in ways I never expected. Physically, Mentality, and emotionally. I lost a part of myself when I lost him. But through that pain, I discovered things too; the power of love, the strength of community, and the truth that grief is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of deep connection. He may no longer be here with me physically. But his spirit is with me every single day. I carry him in my heart, in my choices I make, and in the way I now approach life with more gratitude, compassion, and purpose. If you’ve ever lost someone, I hope you know that your pain is valid, your healing matters, and love never dies. It simply changes from and lives on in you.