Life has a way of knocking you flat when you least expect it. Just when I thought I had weathered one storm, another came rolling in.

After the shock of discovering the hidden debt in 2023, I thought maybe life would give me a break. Instead, it handed me one of the hardest battles I’ve ever faced: watching my sister fight alcoholism.

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A Battle I Couldn’t Fight for Her

At the end of 2022, we started noticing her struggle. By Valentine’s Day of 2023, it was clear things were worse than we thought. We helped her get into rehab, and for a while, it seemed like she was going to turn a corner. But recovery isn’t a straight line. By the end of that year, she was sliding again.

New Year’s Day 2024, she checked herself back in. Over the next six months, it was in and out, over and over. And then, in June 2024, we lost her to an overdose.

If you’ve never watched someone fight alcoholism, it’s hard to explain the helplessness. You want to fix it. You want to shake them awake. You want them to see what they’re losing — their kids, their health, their future. But you can’t fight a battle that isn’t yours to fight.

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Juggling Life and Loss

During all of this, life didn’t slow down for me, either. I had just gone back to work part-time after 13 years at home, still homeschooling, still trying to rebuild my marriage after the financial bombshell, and still dealing with the day-to-day chaos of kids, bills, and work.

My sister was always the strong one — determined, driven, unstoppable. I still don’t understand what drove her to drink in the first place. I just know I wish I could have helped her fight harder. I miss her more than I can put into words.

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The Pieces She Left Behind

Her two kids are left with a hole no one can fill, but I will always show up for them. I can’t replace their mom, but I can love them fiercely.

And even though she lost her own battle, the stories that came after gave us comfort. People from rehab reached out to say how much she meant to them. How she welcomed newcomers, made them feel safe, gave them hope. Even in her own pain, she was pouring out love. That was who she was — all heart and compassion.

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Learning to Carry Her Light

There’s a hole in my heart that will never close. Some days the pain is quieter, and some days it hits like a tidal wave out of nowhere — a song, a memory, a random thought.

I don’t know if I’ll ever fully accept losing her. But I do know this: her light, her compassion, her heart — they’re not gone. They live on in the people she touched, in the family who loved her, and in the stories we’ll share about her.

For me, family life now includes grief. It includes showing up for my niece and nephew. It includes carrying my sister’s memory with me, even when it hurts.

And it includes hope — that one day, her story can help someone else choose healing over hurt.