Grief Through a Brother’s Eyes

I finally started therapy in Chicago. Sana always believed it was important to find a therapist who understood your cultural background. “They understand the nuances of a Desi household,” she would say. And she was right. I found someone who does. During my session, my therapist asked a lot about Maahir—how he was coping, how Sana’s passing had affected him. He is younger than Sana, but she always called him her “baby brother.” Yet, in so many ways, he stepped into the role of a protective older sibling. He worried about her constantly, checked in on her regularly, and when she fell sick, his maturity was astounding. He became the bridge between doctors and family, taking on the responsibility of comforting everyone while carrying his own quiet grief. At just 24, he was thrust into a role that no young adult should have to navigate—managing the emotional weight of losing a sibling while being a pillar of support for his parents. Grief doesn’t just leave an imprint on the ones left behind; it alters them, reshapes their world, and leaves a permanent scar. A friend who also lost her child recently asked me about Maahir. Her younger son had completely shut down after his older brother passed, unable to talk about him to this day. “How is Maahir handling it?” she asked. The truth is, grief manifests differently for everyone. For Maahir, it has been a journey of both strength and sorrow. He has had Serena by his side, offering unwavering support. And then there’s Mia, our sweet beagle. Though she cannot speak, she has been a quiet source of comfort for him. It’s incredible how animals sense our pain—Mia has been there for Maahir, just as he was there for Sana. But now, Mia is aging. She turns eleven in April and has been falling sick more frequently. Each trip to the vet brings a new wave of anxiety for Maahir. I can hear it in his voice—the fear of another loss. The thought of losing Mia after losing Sana feels unbearable. At 25, he carries a weight that most people his age are not expected to bear. And yet, we often assume that young people will simply move on, that time will heal them faster. But is it really that simple? A sibling’s grief is just as deep as a parent’s, only it is often unspoken, overlooked in the shadow of parental mourning. Maahir talks to me about his dreams, about moments with Sana that replay in his mind. He is coping, grieving, and moving forward—all at once. But grief doesn’t have an expiration date. It lingers, reshaping our lives in ways we never expected. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that no one truly “moves on” from loss—we learn to carry it, to live with it, and to honor the ones we love in the ways we can. And for Maahir, that journey is still unfolding.