A Painful Goodbye: The Loss of My Sister and the Questions That Haunt Us
MY LITTLE SISTER DIED AFTER PASSING HER MATRIC WITH 7 DISTINCTIONS
Life has a way of testing us when we least expect it, and sometimes those tests feel impossible to endure. My story is one of joy turned into heartbreak, of dreams shattered in a way that defies understanding, and of a family left grappling with questions we may never answer. For the sake of privacy and respect, I’ll remain anonymous, but I want to share this story because I know there are others out there walking a similar path, searching for meaning and clarity in the midst of overwhelming loss.
My little sister was the pride of our family and our village. She was the kind of person who made you believe in brighter tomorrows, the embodiment of hope and hard work. When her matric results came out, the whole village celebrated. Seven distinctions. Seven! She was going to be the first person from our small, humble community to study medicine, a dream she had nurtured since she was a little girl.
The day her results were announced, our house was filled with laughter, singing, and the kind of joy that comes only from knowing that someone you love has conquered the odds. Media outlets even recognized her, which made her accomplishment feel even more incredible.
But joy, as we would soon learn, can be fleeting.
The morning after the celebrations, my sister woke up with a strange and troubling story. She said she had dreamt of our neighbor pouring a bucket of urine over her while saying, “Dust you shall return.” At first, we thought little of it. Dreams can be odd and meaningless, right? But something about the dream unsettled her—and us.
Later that morning, she began to complain about a headache. We brushed it off at first, thinking it might be from all the noise and excitement of the previous day. But as the hours passed, the headache worsened. By the time we realized it was serious, it was too late.
We rushed her to the clinic, and from there, she was transferred to the hospital. She succumbed to the pain almost immediately. Just like that, she was gone. Our shining star, the beacon of hope for our family and community, was taken from us.
As a family, we were—and still are—devastated. But alongside the grief, another feeling began to creep in: suspicion. That dream she had, those eerie words, “Dust you shall return,” wouldn’t leave our minds. Could it have been a coincidence, or was there more to it?
In our culture, the idea of witchcraft isn’t easily dismissed. It’s a belief that many of us grew up with, and while some might scoff at the notion, for us, it’s deeply rooted in our lived experiences. My family couldn’t help but wonder: Could our neighbor have had something to do with this?
This particular neighbor had a history with us—a complicated and painful history. Her two children had done exceptionally well in life. Her eldest, who is my age, is now a teacher, and her younger son, at just 30, is already a lawyer. I used to be best friends with her daughter until something happened that changed everything.
When I was in high school, I lent my friend—our neighbor’s daughter—a book. When she returned it, my mother told me not to take it back. At the time, I didn’t understand why, but I obeyed her. My friend, however, was angry and stopped speaking to me.
In an attempt to salvage our friendship, I secretly returned the book to her without my mother’s knowledge. From that point on, my life seemed to unravel. My grades, which had been decent, began to plummet. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, and to this day, I wonder if returning that book was a mistake.
I never told my mother what I had done, but the memory of that incident has haunted me ever since. Is it possible that it set something into motion, something that led us to where we are today?
Losing my sister has been the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. As the eldest child in my family, I’ve always felt a deep sense of responsibility. At 35, I work as a cleaner in a supermarket to help my mom support my siblings, as well as my two children. I passed my matric 17 years ago, but I didn’t have the money to further my studies. Instead, I focused on helping my mom, who struggled to raise us on her own.
My sister’s success felt like a victory for all of us. She was going to achieve what I couldn’t, what none of us had been able to. Her loss is a blow not just to our family but to our entire community.
In the weeks since her passing, we’ve been left with so many unanswered questions. Are we wrong to suspect our neighbor? Is it foolish to believe that her dream was a warning? Or is it simply easier to look for someone to blame than to accept the cruel randomness of life?
I don’t know the answers. What I do know is that the pain of losing her is almost too much to bear. Every time I see her schoolbooks or the uniform she wore with such pride, my heart breaks all over again.
As I write this, I’m still in the thick of grief. But I also know that life doesn’t stop for anyone. My siblings need me. My children need me. And so, I get up every day and go to work, even when it feels impossible.
I share this story not because I have solutions or wisdom to offer, but because I want others to know they’re not alone. If you’ve experienced loss, if you’ve wrestled with questions that have no answers, I see you. And if you’ve ever felt the weight of responsibility for your family, I understand.
Life is hard, but as my sister taught me, there’s strength in hope, in perseverance, and in dreaming of a brighter future—even if it’s one we may never fully see.
To those who read this, thank you for allowing me to share my story. And to my little sister: You were, and always will be, our shining star.
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