I was on the phone most of last night, mediating between two siblings that lost their last parent three years ago, and the entire family has broken into a sort of Iran, Israel relationship.

Both are my friends here, and I promised them that I would write some of the things I could not articulate effectively while discussing with them due to my state of mind as at then.

Ordinarily, losing the last parent is supposed to pull siblings closer, a final shared bond against the loneliness of being an orphan.

Unfortunately, for most families, the opposite is the case.

Burial planning, and execution can be quite stressful, and it hardly goes without siblings exchanging hot takes on line items on the burial list. Some even quarrel openly and make up before the funeral.

But as soon as they are through with the funeral and other issues, they become strangers. This is because the death of the last parent doesn’t create these rifts; it merely removes the keystone holding the bond together.

Parents have always been the gravitational center of the family as they were the primary conduit for information, the arbitrators of minor squabbles, and the silent pressure that compelled us to show up for family events.

Without that unifying force, the centrifugal energy of adult life, the pressures of careers, spouses, geography, and differing values sets in and finally rips the unit apart. The glue simply evaporates.

For families that have inheritances to sort out, settlement and who gets what is the primary accelerant of this thaw.

Interestingly, even where the inheritance is small, the division of tangible items can turn into a turf of battle over intangible needs.

Intriguingly, and contrary to how many translate this, especially where there’s little to share, it isn’t greed; it is a desperate, grief-stricken grab for the last physical pieces of your childhood.

For example, where one sibling wants to keep the house for nostalgia, another wants to sell it for practicality.

In the vacuum of earned authority figure, these practical disagreements metastasize into accusations of selfishness, igniting resentments that have been smoldering since adolescence.

I remember when I wanted to pull down my father’s house in a bid to expand the size of our compound, there were oppositions. Some mild, some not so mild.

But each expression is valid, even where they made zero economic or spatial sense. The validity of their disparate takes cannot be judged by the poverty of in articulation.

My mother’s opposition was pure nostalgia, as the house held most of her most precious memories. I felt for her, and if it were possible, I could have left that house just for that. I share the pains of that nostalgia too.

That house still appears in lots of my dreams even though it was pulled down over six years ago. And where there is no commanding earned authority with a voice that is both reassuring and unthreatening without condescension.

A simple poorly managed decision could lead to a big squabble. It is not always about the issue, rather emotions already invested on the issue.

Death, especially of a parent, and most importantly the last parent forces a harsh confrontation with an uncomfortable truth: the shared history is not actually shared.

Like I wrote a few weeks after my mother’s burial, contrary to assumptions by outsiders, when a family is grief-stricken, no two siblings grieve the same way.

We grieve differently. One sibling would wail down the walls of Jericho, another would express only in hushed sobs. Yet there’s one that nature would deny tears throughout that period, and that’s not an invalidation of his pains.

For example, your memory of your father as a stern disciplinarian is your sister’s memory of a hero. Your mother’s “favorite” was a subjective experience.

And this is where leadership in the family is most needful to pull everyone together irrespective of the variance in attitudinal manifestation of grief.

This is because grief is deeply isolating, and our reactions are highly individualized, thus when siblings cannot validate each other’s version of the past, they feel unseen.

That you noticed your brother sharing drinks with Umunna when he should be drying tears doesn’t mean he is not grieving, nor does it signify that he is bearing a lesser pain burden.

Such thoughts make you feel that the person who should understand your pain the most suddenly seems to be grieving wrong, which feels like a betrayal of the deceased.

I have seen siblings fight openly during burials over such erroneous assumptions.

Finally, death removes the final “role” many siblings played. The “responsible one” no longer has a parent to care for, and the “rebellious one” no longer has a parent to defy.

Without these defined roles, siblings often realize they have no shared identity or interests beyond the DNA they share. The emotional labor required to maintain the relationship now feels too heavy for hearts already burdened by loss.

Unfortunately, the devastating irony of it all is that the person who could best console you about losing a parent is the same person you lose because of it.

The break is rarely explosive; it is a quiet drift, a gradual fading of texts and calls. We don’t stop loving our siblings; we simply run out of reasons to stay connected.

And any family lacking the altruistic leadership of either the first son, first daughter or a sibling who chose to stand in the gap for everyone would suffer this almost natural course of events most severely.

family #familylove #FamilyDrama #griefandloss #griefandhealing