“The Weight of Grief: Losing My Sister, Finding My Voice” by Jesus Ortiz Cabrera, 18

It was December — a month usually filled with warmth, lights, and the feeling that everything would be okay. But for me, that month became the darkest time of my life. My sister died by suicide, and from that moment, nothing felt real anymore. Grief became something I wore like a heavy coat every single day, invisible to everyone around me, but impossible to take off.

I’m writing this not because I’ve fully healed — I haven’t — but because mental health matters, especially for teens like me who feel the pain of loss so deeply, yet are told to “stay strong” or “move on.” This is my story, and maybe it’s someone else’s too.

After my sister passed, I didn’t know how to feel. I was shocked, angry, guilty, numb — everything all at once. I kept replaying every conversation we’d had, wondering if there was something I missed, something I could’ve said or done differently.

It started affecting everything:

- I couldn’t concentrate at school.

- I stopped eating regularly.

- I would put on a fake smile so people wouldn’t ask questions.

- Nights were the hardest — I’d lie in bed feeling like I was falling into a hole I couldn’t climb out of.

The hardest part wasn’t just losing her. It was the silence that followed. People don’t know what to say about suicide. They avoid it. But avoiding it doesn’t make it disappear. I needed people to talk to me — not pretend nothing happened.

Eventually, I realized I couldn’t carry this alone. I opened up to a trusted adult and started writing down my thoughts. It didn’t fix everything, but it helped me breathe again.

One of the things that helped most was realizing I wasn’t the only teen feeling this. Others had lost siblings, friends, parents — and like me, they were trying to survive one day at a time. Connecting with them, even online or through grief groups, made me feel less alone.

Mental health isn’t just about depression or diagnoses — it’s about what happens when life hits hard and we’re expected to keep going like nothing happened. Teen grief, especially after suicide, is real. But it’s often ignored.

I want other teens to know:

- You’re not weak for hurting.

- You’re not broken for needing help.

- And you’re not alone in this.

Telling my story doesn’t bring my sister back, but it keeps her memory alive — and maybe it helps someone else speak up before the pain gets too heavy.

There are still days when I feel the weight of her absence. But I’ve also found strength I didn’t know I had. My sister’s story didn’t end with her last breath. It continues in mine — in every conversation I have about mental health, in every moment I remind someone they matter.

If you’re reading this and hurting, I see you. And I hope my story gives you permission to tell your own.

I remember one afternoon, a few months before everything changed. My sister and I were sitting on the couch watching some old, silly TV show we both loved as kids. She laughed so hard she cried, and for that moment, it felt like nothing in the world could hurt us. That memory sticks with me—not because it was extraordinary, but because it was so ordinary. It reminds me that she was more than her struggles; she was joy, light, and love. I hold that memory tightly now, like a piece of her I still get to keep.

Some days, the pain feels manageable. Other days, it crashes over me without warning. I’ve learned that grief isn’t linear—it doesn’t follow a schedule. It shows up in the middle of class, when I hear a song she liked, or when I see siblings laughing together. I used to feel like I had to hide these moments, but now I try to honor them. I let myself feel. That’s been part of the healing.

Therapy has been a helpful outlet for me. It took courage to ask for help, but now I understand that being vulnerable isn’t weakness—it’s strength. I’ve also started journaling, even if it’s just a few lines a day. Sometimes I write letters to my sister, telling her about my life, my struggles, and how much I miss her. Other times, I write about how I’m feeling— without trying to fix it or explain it. Just putting it into words helps.

This experience has changed me in ways I didn’t expect. I’m more empathetic. I check on my friends more often. I’ve become someone others turn to when they’re hurting—not because I have all the answers, but because I understand what it’s like to feel lost. I used to ask, “Why me?” Now, I ask, “What can I do with this pain?” and the answer is often to be there for someone else.

To anyone reading this who has lost someone to suicide or is struggling with mental health, please know you are not alone. There is no right way to grieve, no timeline to follow, and no shame in hurting. You deserve support. You deserve healing. And your story matters just as much as mine. I hope my words remind you that it’s okay to not be okay—and that telling your story is a step toward healing, not just for you, but for others too.