Eight years since the world was changed forever, losing one of its loudest and strongest hearts.

Eight years since we stopped hearing my sister’s belly laughs, her quick-witted comebacks, her compassionate-yet-unvarnished truths.

In the earliest years, shock, regret, and anger — even rage — were the only feelings I could easily access. Over and over, I looped back to what I’d missed, what I hadn’t known, and what I didn’t do.

These days, my mind loops less about things I could not “control” — which, as the eldest daughter, does not come naturally.

Last month, I finally joined a grief group. Until then, I was certain that if I opened the floodgates, I’d drown.

I didn’t drown.

When I spoke of my sister, I brought her life into focus for others, and it changed me.

There were two therapists in that grief group — not there to facilitate, but to share their own grief journeys.

Beth had also been a therapist, a woman making meaning from her life, helping others find their paths after difficult times.

She was a wonder, a magnificent human being.

The world is filled with more Beths than we realize, with hearts so pure and porous.

Look to them.

Check in on them.

Celebrate all their gifts.