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Seven years gone feels like both a blink and forever My identical twin sister died almost seven years ago, just hours after she gave birth to a beautiful, healthy son. Losing Jenny, at age 37, was nothing she or I had prepared for, in the way that none of us want to imagine we will one day or already do live without someone we love most. But darn those grief experts.
Everything I read years ago assured that as time passes you grow around your grief, and it starts to feel less profound. At the time, I whole-heartedly rejected this sentiment because it took away from missing her.
In absolutely no way would I ever feel any differently than I did the day Jenny died. The acuteness and shock of her death has worn off.
That part is true. The immediate deluge of people offering their love and support, who show up when you initially have a loss, have mostly retreated to their own lives.
Her death is no longer recent. Honestly, her name comes up less often around the dinner table. But it happened. The impact she made on all who knew her remains and is even more treasured. Over seven years, of course, Jenny has missed so many huge milestones and moments in her immediate world and beyond β moments that she would have cheered for, been dismayed by, been hopeful about, laughed along with, learned from, been emotional about or just been there for.