On July 19, 2016, the unthinkable happened. Little did I know that just a few days later I would become part of the 'dead sibling club.'

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There is no way to describe the loss of a sibling. If you lose a spouse, you're a widow or widower. If you lose your parents, you're an orphan. But if you lose a sibling, you just become the girl who lost their sister.

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For those of you who are just beginning your grief journey, I am here to reassure you and tell you that I understand what you are going through right this moment.

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There is no statue of limitation on grief. There is no time limit to crying yourself to sleep, or sneaking away to the bathroom at work to hide your sudden onset of tears. There is no special cure for those dull aches in your heart that don't ever seem to go away.

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I'm waiting for the day when the 20 years I was able to have with my sister becomes enough for the 20 more I will never have. Right now, grief and anger seem to consume and shrink my whole word. They seem to paralyze my memory of happier times, of friends, places, things; options.

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Until that day, I'm just trying to make the brutally uncomfortable topic of grief and death something that is a bit more comfortable to discuss.

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It's awkward for those around us when we mention the one we've lost. They don't know what to say. They quickly change the topic because it's just too hard. Or they're scared they'll say the wrong thing. Or that they'll talk about them too much and we'll start to cry. Because God forbid anyone shows any weakness. No, it's not something to speak about. It's just too uncomfortable.

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We still tell stories. We still say their name. We still remember them. And we still love them. And to the world, this is a troubling concept.

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In loving memory of Sierah Joughin

In loving memory of all those who have gone too soon.

Rest in peace.