When my four-year-old sister, Jocelyn, was diagnosed with spinal cancer in 2014, our family’s lives took an unexpected turn. The news of her illness was like a tornado, tearing through our peaceful existence and leaving us battling with a new reality we never expected. Our lives would never be the same again.

Being the sister of a sibling who battled childhood cancer was an emotional journey, filled with ups and downs. Despite my sister’s frequent hospital visits or her time spent in my mother’s bed, we always made a point to prioritize our precious moments together. From playing with our newest American Girl dolls to solving tedious puzzles, we created new experiences I continue to cherish. While our playtime provided a temporary escape, we couldn’t break out of the occasional reminder of the challenging circumstances my sister faced. She dealt with the physical demands of grueling chemotherapy treatments, keeping her in the hospital for days on end. As the treatments took their toll, she gradually lost her ability to walk, and her once-vibrant interest in play began to diminish.

Throughout Jocelyn’s illness, I struggled with a desire for attention, longing to be seen and recognized amid the overwhelming focus on her. It wasn’t that I resented her or wished ill upon her, but the constant attention and concern directed toward her left me feeling unnoticed and overlooked by my entire family. As Jocelyn faced the challenges of her illness, our family’s attention naturally moved toward her needs. Understandably, her health became the central focus of our lives, leaving little space for my own desires and struggles. It was difficult not to crave the same level of attention and support my sister received.

When a stomach bug landed me in the emergency room, it was my aunt and grandma who stepped up to take care of me. With my mother already at the hospital tending to Jocelyn’s illness, I could sense the heaviness in her presence as she finally arrived in my room. It felt as though my own sickness — minor vomiting and a stomach ache — paled in comparison to the immensity of my sister’s battle with cancer. In her eyes, I could see the strain of worry and exhaustion, and it seemed as if my sickness was unimportant, as if I were wasting her precious time. The weight of guilt and insignificance settled upon me, leaving me grappling with the unfairness of the situation. There were many moments when I felt invisible, as if my own emotions and experiences were brushed aside. Birthdays, achievements, and even typical daily activities seemed to be less significant in comparison to the importance of my sister’s condition. It felt as though I had become a side character in the story of our family, solely a background figure while my sister took the center of the stage.

Years later, I now understand that my family’s focus on Jocelyn’s health was not intentionally diminishing my own needs. It was a response to the seriousness of her illness. Recognizing this has helped me find compassion and forgiveness, both for myself and for my family. While my desire for attention during that time was valid, I have come to realize that it is not solely through others’ validation that I can find comfort. During the most somber moments I felt alone, I validated my own feelings and prioritized my own demands. I was there for myself, and that is what matters most.

The journey of being the sister to a younger sibling with cancer has left a permanent mark on my life. Through the passing of my sister Jocelyn, I have come to understand the profound value of cherishing every moment, embracing compassion for others and myself, and finding resilience in the face of adversity. Her love and strength continue to inspire me, and while I deeply miss her presence, I carry her spirit with me as a reminder of the precious time we shared and the enduring impact she has had on my life.