The Loss of a Lifetime: When an Adult Sister Dies W hen I was 22 (22 years, 6 months), my younger sister, who was my only sibling, died. The day the doctor said and I heard my parent's loud cry, was the most impactful day of my life. In the thickness of shock, I didn’t realize that the rest of my life would be measured in before and after. Before, when my family was intact. After, when I would somehow learn to live without the person I was supposed to get a lifetime with. “Be strong for your parents,” said blurs of people at Rekha ’s memorial service. I nodded, but inside me, something twisted. I stood in a daze as people streamed by, offering their awkward words and hugs. Be strong for your parents? I thought. I was barely breathing. I was barely standing here. Strong was the last thing I felt. In the early months after Rekha’s death at 20 (20 years, 5 months, 4 days), I existed in a heavy fog. Nothing was as I knew it. I’d abandoned the little