26/05/2026
Today marks six years since my brother passed away.
Grief is a strange thing. Some anniversaries arrive softly, and some arrive carrying the weight of the world with them. Today has been one of the heavy ones.
I’ve spent the last few days in a bit of chaos with one of my kids, running on no sleep, adrenaline and that deep kind of exhaustion only fear and love seem to create. And somewhere in the middle of all that overwhelm, this date still quietly whispered its reminder: he’s gone. Six whole years.
It’s strange how life does that.
How grief doesn’t pause for life, and life doesn’t pause for grief. They just weave themselves together into one messy, human experience.
Today I’ve felt the ache of missing my brother alongside the fierce love and worry that comes with being a mum. One reminding me what it is to lose someone you love deeply, the other reminding me just how deeply we can love in the first place.
Some moments today have felt impossibly heavy. Others have been grounding in a way I can’t fully explain. Maybe because when you’ve experienced loss, you hold the people you love a little tighter. Maybe because hard days have a way of showing you exactly what matters.
Six years later, grief still changes shape.
It still sneaks up unexpectedly.
It still lives beside the love.
And today, through all the exhaustion and emotion, I’ve thought about how lucky I was to have a brother whose absence could still be felt this deeply. Someone so woven into my soul that even after all this time, he’s still part of the story of my days.