In 2023, my world shattered — twice.
First, I lost my brother to cardiac arrest at the gym. He collapsed, unconscious, surrounded by people who could have helped — but no one did. No CPR. No use of the AED machine that sat on the wall, untouched. He died alone on that floor, and I still struggle to understand how people could stand by and do nothing.
Three months later, I lost my oldest brother to an overdose. Another blow to a heart already broken. The grief was so heavy it felt like it might swallow me whole. Two brothers, two completely different circumstances, one unbearable year.
What followed was silence. Emptiness. Guilt. Rage. Numbness. I didn’t know how to begin healing when everything inside me felt shattered and wrong. But I also knew I didn’t want to stay in that dark place forever.
Healing hasn’t been linear. Some days, it still hurts to breathe. Some nights, the weight of the “what-ifs” crushes me. But slowly, I’m learning to hold space for both the pain and the beauty of their lives. I’m learning to honor their memory not just with tears, but with growth. With love. With purpose.
I speak out now — about the importance of learning CPR, about showing up for people in crisis, and about the silent battles many face with addiction. I’ve become a voice for the brothers I lost and the version of myself I’m slowly becoming again.
This is my story of healing. It’s messy and painful, but it’s also real. And if sharing it helps even one person feel less alone — or inspires someone to act when it matters most — then it’s worth every tear.
Sarah