At the age of 13, I experienced a pivotal moment that shifted my understanding of what it means to grow up. It was the moment when I lost my brother, who was only 11 at the time. Before that, I hadn’t really considered what it meant to shoulder responsibility in a deeper sense. But the grief in our household was overwhelming. My parents, particularly my mother, were devastated. She spent her days crying, her sorrow evident in every moment, and everyone else in the family was consumed by their own suffering. It felt as if the world around me was crumbling, and I was left standing in the middle, trying to make sense of it all.
My bond with my brother was unique, unlike anything else in my life. We fought like any siblings do, but there was an unspoken love, a connection that made him not just my brother but a part of me. He was mine in every sense of the word.
Two years earlier before the incident, I had lost my grandfather the one who was my everything our precious bond, I used to say he was my gold, my diamond,my wealthiest thing, and his passing was already giving me so much of touch time. I didn’t even cope with it properly then my brother left us. His death wasn’t just another loss; it was traumatizing, a wound that cut deeper than I could have imagined. Like my whole world was totally shattered.
He was hospitalized in Bangalore and in my final shift While holding his left hand I sung to him … TUM MERE HO MERE REHNA TUM MERE HO MERE REHNA TUM SATH MERA HAR DAM DENA TUM MERE HO MERE REHNA … ( You are mine, remain mine,you are mine, remain mine. Be with me always,you are mine, remain mine…)
Who Knew that he will leave me forever while I was out for my dinner. Father was with him. I finished my dinner, mommy and uncle’s was going to start then my father called and told us to came fast. That type of situation happened before also so I was tensed free and thought doctors will take care of him and of course God is there so nothing to worry. But when I walked into NICU both were crying and doctors were removing all the ventilation stuffs that moment was devastating to me.
I started hauling (not shouting) and I kept trying to wake him up… Aaa Bhai Uthna Dekh Didi Eseche … [Hey Brother Wake up See Your Sister is here] AND I start giving giving him chest compressions if he woke up but nothing worked to be true doctors didn’t gave their best.
Father and uncle took me outside and I was then holding a phone and I threw it whatever I was seeing I was just hiting it. How how how why this happened what was my fault why left me. And next day we performed his cremation. Too Hard to me I didn’t able to understand what’s actually going on. Is it just a dream Maybe I will wake up soon.
When we gathered his ashes, I was adamant that I would be the one to keep them. I didn’t want anyone else to touch them because he was mine, and he always would be.That night, we returned to our room, and I fell asleep holding the urn close to me. And then, he came to me in a dream—or maybe it wasn’t a dream, maybe it was real. He said to me, “Oh Didi, don’t worry. I’m with you always, and now it’s 24×7. I love you a lot. Take care of mommy and Bholebaba (our father).” When I woke up, his words stayed with me, giving me the strength I needed to face what came next. The next day, we traveled back to Kolkata, and the weather was terrible—it was raining cats and dogs, as if the sky itself was mourning.
My mother and Father were completely broken, and I realized then that I had no choice but to be strong for her and my father. I couldn’t let myself fall apart because they were depending on me. So, I made the decision to stop crying. It was my responsibility now to hold them up, to bring some sense of peace back into our shattered lives. When we returned home, everyone was crying, but I wasn’t. My aunt even commented on how strong I was, saying that others should learn from me. But if only she could have seen the turmoil inside me. It wasn’t strength that kept me from crying; it was sheer willpower, a refusal to show my pain because I knew it would only hurt my parents more.
But in the midst of this overwhelming grief, something inside me shifted. I realized that I couldn’t afford to break down because my parents were already so fragile. If I broke too, who would hold everything together? That was the moment I understood what it meant to be grown up. It wasn’t about age or milestones; it was about stepping up when everyone around you is falling apart. So I made a decision.
I would not allow myself to cry, because crying felt like a luxury I could no longer afford. I had responsibilities now, to take care of my parents, to keep the pieces of our shattered family together.
I remember every detail of the relationship I had with my brother. We celebrated Rakshabandhan, Bhai dooj, and other occasions with so much love. Those memories are etched in my mind, bittersweet reminders of what we shared.
My mother often told me how, when I was little, I would ask for a brother. It was something I yearned for, and by God’s grace, I got one. But only for 11 years. And then, just like that, he was gone. It felt like the universe had given me something precious only to take it away far too soon.
I held it together, though. I rarely cried, at least not in front of my parents. A few times, maybe once or twice, but only when I couldn’t help it. I knew that if they saw me cry, it would break them even more. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t cry.
I cried more than anyone will ever know. My Pillow knew, Shower knew, and I knew how much pain I was in. God knew. The night was my witness, the silence my companion in those dark hours when I couldn’t hold back the tears. I was broken, but I hid it behind a smile, pretending to be strong because I had to be.
I was far from stable, but I tried. I failed many times along the way, but I never lost hope.And now, here I am, not the person I was before, not the version of me that existed when my brother was alive. But I’ve grown. I’m tougher, more realistic. I carry responsibilities, I have goals, and I have a vision for the future. Life is different, but I have learned to stand strong, even in the face of unbearable pain. And that’s when I truly knew—I had grown up.
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