Dieta Wellness

Grief changes the calendar.

Thanksgiving.
October 25th- her birthday, except she’ll be 35 forever.
Diwali. Then Christmas. And all the little things in between.

Dates that once meant celebrating with my sister now mean learning how to celebrate with her spirit instead of her physical body.

Her and I always went all out for the holidays. So learning how to celebrate without her feels wrong. Foreign. Like I’m participating in traditions that belonged to both of us.

And the closer the holidays get, the louder her absence becomes.

It’s the empty chair. Her missing voice. Her not making her delicious mashed potatoes this time around?! Ugh…

Traditions just don’t feel the same anymore.

It’s the instinct to look for her in a room I already know she won’t walk into.

So if you’re grieving a sibling or someone you love this holiday season, while everyone around you is excited and your heart feels unbearably heavy… I see you.

Some chairs will always feel empty because some people were simply irreplaceable. 🤍😞

I’m reaching out to you…

because some part of me refuses to believe
that a lifetime of loving you
can end with me talking to an empty room.

I was your little sister then.
I’m your little sister now.

Except now I’m getting older
and you’re not.

And Jazzy,
I don’t know what hurts more..
losing you,
or realizing I have to keep living long enough
to miss you for the rest of my life.

If it was in my hands, I would’ve given everything up just to see you smile again 🥀

September is Su***de Prevention Month. 🤍

Cancer conversations tend to revolve around survival.

Scans, chemo, surgeries, medications, appointments. Is the treatment working? Did the tumour shrink? What do we try next?

So much energy goes into keeping someone alive that I think we sometimes forget what it actually feels like for the person trying to live through all of it.

Cancer can take so damn much from someone without taking their life.

Their independence. Career. Finances. Relationships. Confidence. Sense of normalcy. The future they pictured for themselves.

I watched how quickly life could become measured in bloodwork, pain levels, medication schedules and the time between appointments. As someone who loved her more than anything, my brain was constantly searching for the next thing I could do. Something to fix. Something to make easier. Something that might give us more time.

You become so desperate to add days to someone’s life that it’s easy to forget how unbearably heavy some of those days can be.

There is suffering that no blood test measures and no scan will ever show.

Fear lives there. So does loneliness. Depression. Anxiety. Financial stress. Loss of identity. The exhaustion of waking up every day in a body and a life you barely recognize anymore.

None of that becomes less important just because there is a bigger, scarier diagnosis sitting in the room.

That is when I had to slow down and think… Maybe caring for someone with cancer also means making space for the conversations nobody wants to have. Giving them permission to say that they’re scared, angry, exhausted or not okay without immediately trying to make it positive.

Sometimes “How are you?” needs to be asked twice. Or in a different way.

Sometimes the strongest person in the room needs someone to notice they’re tired of being strong.

We fight so fu***ng hard to give people more time.

I just hope we learn to care as fiercely about the life inside that time, too.

Mental health care is cancer care. 🤍🎗️

If you or someone you love is struggling with thoughts of su***de, call or text 988 in Canada or the United States for 24/7 crisis support.