There are moments in life that split your world in two—before and after. For me, one of those moments was losing my twin brother.
When you share the womb with someone, you’re not just siblings—you’re two halves of a whole. From our earliest days, we shared everything: birthdays, inside jokes, matching clothes, and an unspoken connection that only twins truly understand. He wasn’t just my brother—he was my built-in best friend, my mirror, my anchor.
Losing him felt like losing a part of myself I can never get back.
I never imagined a life where he wasn’t just a phone call away, cracking jokes, checking in, or giving me that big-brother twin energy that always made me feel safe. His absence isn’t just felt in the silence of a phone that won’t ring or an empty chair at the table. It’s in the way the world feels a little dimmer, a little quieter, a little less whole.
Grief as a Twin Is Different
People often talk about losing a sibling, but when you lose a twin, it’s something deeper. It’s like the blueprint of your identity gets rewritten. I find myself asking questions I never used to: Who am I without him? Am I still a twin if he’s gone? The grief is complex, tangled with memories that no one else can fully understand—because no one else lived our bond but us.
How It Changed Me
His death shattered me, but it also transformed me. In the months and years that followed, I began to see life through a different lens. I no longer take people or time for granted. I’ve learned that love—real love—doesn’t end with death. It lingers in laughter, dreams, and the way his favorite song still makes me smile through tears.
I became more empathetic. I started listening harder, hugging tighter, and speaking more gently—because you never know when it might be the last time. My grief gave me a strange kind of strength—the kind that comes from surviving what you thought would break you completely.
It also deepened my purpose. I started writing more. I created spaces like Princess Crystal Says and Dragon Strong Circle because I needed somewhere to pour the pain—and somewhere others could feel safe doing the same. I wanted to honor him by helping others feel less alone in their grief and pain.
I Still Miss Him Every Day
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of him. Some days, the memories are a warm light. Other days, they hurt like fresh wounds. And that’s okay. Grief doesn’t follow rules or timelines. It just becomes part of who you are.
But if you’re reading this and grieving someone you love, I want you to know: it’s okay to change. It’s okay to break. And it’s okay to grow into someone new on the other side of loss.
My twin brother may be gone, but he lives in everything I do—from the strength I carry to the compassion I offer others. His life made mine richer, and his death made me braver.
Losing him changed me. But loving him shaped me.
And I carry both truths with me, always.
Copyright 2025
Crystal Amon
Princess Crystal Says 
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