Ideas - Without justice, can unbearable grief subside?

Episode Date: September 17, 2025

In June 1985, Air India Flight 182 exploded off the coast of Ireland. It's considered the worst terror attack in Canadian history. Sujata Berry's 16-year-old brother, Sharad was on that flight. The shock of his horrific death morphed into an unshakeable grief. The family's sorrow was augmented with the lack of justice for victims' families — a flawed investigation, evidence lost and what Sujata says was "an unsatisfactory verdict." It's taken Sujata 40 years to chip away at her grief and try to understand what happened to her and her family. She explores love, loss and the grief that binds them in her documentary, All that Remains.

This is a CBC podcast. By late tonight, more than 100 bodies have been recovered from the scene of the Air India crash off the coast of Ireland. Rescue workers reported widespread wreckage, but no sign of survivors. The first few days are a bit of a blur. It's kind of like the TV's on with the news and at some point within their first day or so you hear that there's a crash and then you start seeing photos of the debris and our home starts filling up with people who knew us. Two busloads of relatives are said to have traveled to the Irish coast, simply to look out at the ocean

where their loved ones died. Three bodies have now been identified. One's been released and taken home. All I remember doing is making and serving lots and lots of tea and watching my parents like falling apart in front of my eyes. Search for bodies resumed with the helicopters using winches when they have to to clock the victims from the sea. More records was picked up overnight, but the vital voice recorder has not yet been located.

My father kept repeating, he kept saying that I beg God for this child, and now he's been taken away. A spokesman for the airline says it appears that all aboard are dead. More than a hundred bodies have been recovered. British aviation experts say the failure of the pilot to send a distress signal strongly suggests that a mid-air bomb blast caused the plane to plummet into the sea. My brother was had just one diving metal

and my mom kept saying for the first couple of days oh maybe he survived because he knows how to die like maybe he's

alive and I kept thinking oh is that even a possibility that just seems so far-fetched given what we're seeing Many family

Khami Vandana Mritiur Mokshi Amrida Many family members and friends of victims have gathered here to remember loved ones who died on that faithful Air India Flight Flight 182

A shocking tragedy that they will remember as the worst day of their lives 40 years later, this is a special ceremony Shanti Vanasped Dejah Shanti Vishwee Deva Shanty Brahmha Shanti Sarvagvagvam Shanti, Shanti,

Deva, Shanti Sama Shanti Redhi Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti, Shanti, shanty.

Sujata Berri lost her 16-year-old brother, Shadad, in the early morning hours of June 23rd, 19-year-old brother, Shahad in the early morning hours of June 23, 1985. He was a passenger on Air India Flight 182. The plane had departed from Montreal and was heading to Delhi via London. It was cruising at 31,000 feet just off the coast of Ireland when a bomb packed in a suitcase exploded, plunging the aircraft into the frigid Atlantic.

It's kind of like you're trying to hold on to these fragments of your life and understanding your life is never going to be the same again. All 329 people aboard were killed, including 268 Canadians. It was and remains the worst terrorist attack in Canadian history. It took me a long time. to create an image of a life that would bring me happiness. Four decades later, the grief remains inescapable. The grief is always going to be there. I know that now.

It's not going away. like this idea that the grief will dissipate over time and just disappear is a lie. The stuff you feel deeply you will always remember no matter what. So I think the, I wish I could be less furious about it. I wish I could be less frustrated because that makes. it harder to grieve the way I would like to grieve. I would like to grieve by remembering him appropriately the way we had, the fun times we had. You know, yes, it was a short life, yes, it ended tragically and in an untimely way. But I wish I could just take the day off

today and not show up at a memorial service. I wish I was just given the grace to do that. But no, I cannot because if I did, I'm being complicit in the violence by not speaking out. I think that's the choice I mean. I dropped him at the airport. He was flying to India to join my sister on vacation. I remember a sense of foreboding as I kissed him goodbye, but I couldn't quite understand why. I cried all the way home.

He was killed a few hours later. Days later, I flew to India to be with my sister Suda. My parents went to Ireland to identify any remains that may belong to us, any tangible proof that Shad was really gone. There was none. The sea had swallowed him forever. My parents returned empty-handed to Mumbai, hollow-eyed, a shell of their former selves. They never went back to being the vital, happy, and optimistic people who had embraced. changed and made such a happy and stable life for us kids.

Our family broke that day and we couldn't figure out how to put it back together. For decades, Sujada has been wrestling with her grief. over the death of her brother and the collapse of her family, trying to make her way from the intense pain that froze her in time to a life she could live. We're calling this episode All That Remains. I mean, I remember the day he was born. It was in the monsoons.

And, you know, my dad came. to collect us so we could go take a look at him. And I remember the hospital was in the city. So we drove for about 20 minutes through pouring rain and then we were taken up to the nursery. And my brother was behind a pane of glass and we could just see his hairy little head because he came with a lot of hair. And, you know, we just sat there completely gobsmacked that this little thing was coming home with us. And right from the get-go, he became kind of the focus of our family because he was funny and charming and we all doted on him. I think for me, I don't remember being a baby, you know, I don't remember being the youngest. I always remember being in the middle between

an older sister and a younger brother who was my pal. He was. He was, my sidekick in all things. We came to Canada in 1980. Papa was already 50, but he chose to move across the world so that we could have a better future, better opportunities. When I turned 50, I remember thinking,

Good God. What possessed Papa to make a decision like that? Making such a bold move at that stage of life seems astonishing to me. My older sister, Sala, got an after-school job. My little brother Sharad and I became Lashki kids. We'd make chutney and cheese sandwiches and, you know, open up a bag of chips and sit down and watch after-school specials. and get caught up on all the shows that the kids our age already knew. So, you know, mash and six million dollar men, bionic woman. And what was the show with the two hilly bellies in a car? Dukes of Hazard.

We had a lot of time to bond. And, you know, we were both sporty, so summers were spent by the condo pool hanging out, riding our bikes. You know, we just had a lot of loose time together. Now, 40 years later, all that's left is me and Soda. We were young adults when child was killed. His death has been the force that shaped our lives. We never recovered Shard's body, so we couldn't have a traditional cremation. But we wanted to follow the Hindu rituals for the dead.

So we performed what is called a haven, a service where we provided offerings to a fire and asked for blessings for Shard's soul. Then, Papa announced, we'd be going to Haridwa, a holy site of pilgrimage on the banks of the Ganges River. My memory of that trip is different from my sisters, but we both remember how we felt. I remember being super annoyed by this whole expedition to Hardwa. I mean, as an adult, I have different feelings about it, but at the time, I remember being quite petulant about it. What do you remember about that? I think I just accepted it, because I guess I understood more of the truth.

traditions and the reason for it, three years between us makes a difference. What I remember is just all of the arrangements that had to be made, the travel arrangements and the tickets and who's going to get it and who is going to come to collect the money and how are we going to get there and who's going to arrange the car rental. And it was all very frenzied. So we flew to Delhi. No, we took a train. We took the Rajdani to Delhi.

Then we were met with a taxi. I remember late at night we arrived at Paredi Mammaji's house. No, we didn't stop. No, we arrived late at night at their house, and the entire extended family was sitting in lawn chairs and the night outside waiting for us. And we met them, and again, there was the kind of, you know, kind of condolence meeting.

And then from there, we took the car to Harador. Right. Yeah. So that trip was, there were some comic elements. Astonishingly. I think it's the first time we laughed after the event. Yeah. So it was also the first time we were alone as a family

because we were just surrounded by, you know, lots of well-meaning people, but people you had to behave a certain way with. So this was the first time we could really just be ourselves. And the guy who was driving, his kind of M-O was just to blare the horn continuously, whether there was an obstruction or not. So he just like, literally, his right-hand.

was down the whole time, you know, and it didn't matter whether there was a truck or a person or a cow or, you know, nobody. He was just on that thing continuously. And, you know, I think Papa tried to tell him to cool it. And he just couldn't. That was his way he drove. And so the whole trip, we were just like with our hands up on our ears, just trying to like, when are we going to get there, you know. And then we stopped for a meal at our roadside taba. And so this little kid must have been like about 10 years old was working the oven, the clay oven. And, you know, we arrive and we're not his typical customers. And so he kind of started putting on the show. You know, he would get like the rotis and then, you know, first he was just putting them in the oven and then he

started flipping them in the air and then he would like flip two in the air and, you know, and it was like a little circus thing. So that was our kind of like comic relief on the way to her door. Yeah, I remember that. And it also felt, it's weird, it felt, I felt a little guilty about laughing. Yeah, but it was kind of unstoppable. Yeah. And then once we got there, I just remember the filth everywhere. And that part, you know, that sacred area where you can't even wear shoes. And you have to go by the cuts.

And it was just so awful. And I'm squeamish with dirt at the best of times. And I had to take my shoes off. And I felt so terrible. I can't describe it. It was just awful. I could feel like the squelchy mud. And I remember asking Papa, how does this work again?

Like, how are we going to find the right person? And he said, we will. We eventually found the right priest with the right scrolls that contained our family tree going back generations. Papa wanted to add Shard's name. And I remember Papa saying to, the priest, you know, it's now the end of our line because his brother didn't have children and his sisters had male children, but they wouldn't carry the berry name. So Sherrod was the only

kind of berry descendant. So with his death, basically the line ends. So he said, you know, you're not going to have anybody else coming. You're not going to have anybody adding to this. Why don't you just give it to us? And they refuse. I mean, they always do. So they're there somewhere in her door. I'm in the pretty village of a heister on the southern shore of the sheep's head peninsula.

It's a glorious spot. And here, there's a powerful memorial to a disaster that happened in June 1985 when terrorists blew up an Air India flight. Around the second anniversary of Schard's death, I was really struggling. The whole family was. Canada's response or lack of response to the bombing added to our despair. the Irish on the other hand embraced us Ireland unveiled a memorial to Air India Flight 182

a year after the crash the site was the village of Ahakista chosen because it was the closest land point to where our family members died we went to Ireland hoping that being so close to the place where Sharad died seeing his name on the memorial and seeing the way the Irish honored our dead would ease our despair.

My mother wanted to take flowers because she wanted to do a prayer service for my brother at the memorial. We couldn't find a flower shop. We were going through all these little villages. So we kept saying, it's okay, Mom, you know, it's going to be fine. We could do a puja without it.

It's fine, fine. We kept trying to pacify her. And eventually we stopped. that it's kind of like a five-house little village main street, and my sister went to make reservations for our B&B that night. I was sitting in the driver's seat. Mom was in the back, and my dad decided to stretch his legs. So he, you know, was walking along this little five-shop main street.

And he sees a woman, there's nobody around. He sees this woman crossing the street. And he looks at her, and she's carrying flowers wrapped in a newspaper. So my dad catches up with her, and he says, excuse me, but we were wondering where we could buy some flowers. And she looks at my dad, and she says, oh, I just cut these from my garden. and I was just about to take them to the church. But why don't you take them? Because they'll be just as well used where you're going.

Because everyone knew that if you were in the vicinity and you were brown, you were more than likely to be going to the crash site for the memorial. And I just thought, that is the kindest public acknowledgment. of what has happened to us. They've embraced the airing their tragedy in a way that Canada never really has, and I am not sure if they ever will. I've been studying grieving from the perspective of the brain, And over time, I've thought having to match up a world where we believe our loved one should be

and the present reality where they have died, you could almost think of grieving as a form of learning. Mary Frances O'Connor is an associate professor of psychology at the University of Arizona. She wrote a book called The Grieving Brain, The Surprising Science of How We Learn from Love and Loss. The audio is from a TEDx talk she gave at the University of Arizona. So the question that has plagued me for much of my career is, why does grieving take so long? Why is it so hard to understand that this person is really gone?

And what that means for our life? One of the hallmarks of this new existence in the early years of living with grief was the dissonance between my rational and my emotional senses. I knew and accepted that my brother was not coming back, but for years after his death, I felt like he may walk into the room to join me at any moment. It's like he was present, but just outside my peripheral vision. I always assumed that this dissonance was a response to never having seen my brother's body, a visual, tangible evidence of his death. I thought I was losing my mind. It turns out it was actually my brain.

Well, the brain is fascinating. We can actually listen to two streams of information at the same time, even when they can't both be true. I call this the gone but also everlasting theory. On the one hand, the brain has a memory system. It's got the hippocampus, and we may have a memory of being at the bedside when a loved one dies, or getting that awful phone call in the middle of the night, or being at a memorial or a funeral.

We know the reality of what has happened. but we also have attachment neurobiology. And when we form a bond with someone, it comes with a deep belief, the belief that I will always be there for you, and you will always be there for me. And that is not something that goes away when someone dies. Mary Francis O'Connor says our brains have to resolve dueling forces.

We know our loved one is gone, but that same brain has created an everlasting bond. I wasn't going nuts. It makes sense that I couldn't shake the feeling that shard was about to walk into the room, and we'd pick up where we left off. Chakni and cheese sandwiches and six million dollar men. That's the enderikshakshakram, shanthi Pridavi, shanthi Rapa, shanti Roshadaya,

shanthi vanasbatea ha, shanty wiswedea. That's the CBC's Sujata Barry. You're listening to All That Remains, a documentary about everlasting love and loss, and the grief that binds them. This is Ideas. I'm Nala Ayat. Grief is an ache, a longing that prowls the mind and heart. The thinking side of us knows the dead don't return, yet the yearning for that return is relentless.

We cultivate new habits and routines to keep the longing at bay, but there's suddenly upended when, in the quiet moments, grief emerges like a ship through the fog. The British writer and scholar C.S. Lewis wrote about his own grief after the death of his wife, both the rational and emotional parts of it. In a grief observed, Lewis, who was a Christian, asked big questions of his faith and remarked on the never-ending cycle of pain. He wrote, For in grief, nothing stays put. One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs, round and round. Everything repeats.

Am I going in circles, or dare I hope, I am on a spiral? But if a spiral, am I going up or down it? How often will it be for always? How often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty? And make me say, I never realize my loss till this moment. The same leg is cut off time after time. I think it was about almost 20 years in. So by then I'd had, I'd graduated.

I've got my journalism job. I was doing okay. And then I was having this weird health issue where I was having really low energy. I was unable to get up easily. And I was always an early rise. I count as one of those crazy people that bounces out of bed in the morning at six without an alarm.

And I was just struggling. And this was probably about two years after I finally moved out of my parents' place. That would have been in my mid-30s. And that was hard. It was hard to leave them. But I knew I had to do it for myself. And I think I imagined that when I left this home of sadness,

that was also a place of great love for me, that it would mean I was going to be okay. But I think it led to me feeling very adrift. And so when I started having these health issues, I didn't connect the dots. And I went to the doctor and I got all these blood tests and they all came back normal. And on my third visit, the doctor who was just about to go on her maternity leave, said to me, well, I think you should just consider that you might be depressed. And I said to her, well, isn't everyone?

And she just looked at me kind of nonplussed and then sent me packing. And I was just like, I was walking back to the office after my appointment. And I was like, what the hell do I do with this? Like, okay, even if I am depressed, what does one do if you're depressed? Like, I don't know what this means. And I was really, really lucky that I had a colleague who was a good friend of mine who had seen me going to these various medical appointments and asked me when I returned, what did the doctor say? And I told this colleague of mine what the doctor said. And she came

back with a phone number for a therapist and said, drop everything and make this call now. And she kind of stood by my desk while I did it, and I made my first appointment. And that's how I finally started unpacking all this hurt and grief that had been really shaping my life unconsciously and allowed me to make some intentional choices about the life I wanted to create for myself, which I didn't realize was an option for me. The experience of grief is such a personal experience that it's hard to imagine that from the brain's perspective it is seen as any other form of emotional trauma such that there really isn't any specific area of the brain that

it deals with grief. Instead, our brain has a survival instinct that when trauma is experienced, it's experienced as a threat. Literally, a threat to our survival, which is really kind of astounding to think of it. From that standpoint,

we are evolutionarily hardwired to respond to threats to our survival. So it's one of the reasons why when we're having the very personal experience of profound grief, that at times we feel like our life is literally threatened or our life is ending in some way and that we can't go on because that's the signals we're getting from our brain. I'm Lisa Schulman. I'm a professor of neurology at the University of Maryland School of Medicine.

I wrote the book Before and After Loss, A Neurologist's Perspective on Loss, and Our Brain. Often when people are grieving, they seem to experience a second loss as they start losing some of the memories of whatever they're grieving, whether it's the person, how the person smelled or the way they laughed. What is happening in these memory lapses? Well, again, you know, it's a clever survival mechanism. When people experience inability to remember disturbing memories, it's actually a rather clever brain adaptation. The brain perceives that we're not ready to experience the full level of the loss and literally suppresses a lot of disturbing memory.

and emotions. And then we need to do very active, proactive work in order to surface those memories again, because that's really the engine for healing and especially for post-traumatic growth. Professor Shulman says these daily reminders and our emotional responses to them in a way weaponize the brain against us. The repetition of these reminders and feelings, strengthens the amygdala, the brain's fear center. That strengthening then weakens the connection to cognitive centers. You know, one of the things that happens when we experience grief is that the stress response goes from being a short-term acute response to a chronic stress response.

In other words, a lot of the stress reactions in our normal routine, life are things that pass over and are resolved in a fairly reasonably short-term way. But grief, the loss of a loved one, isn't resolved that way. And so we continue in our lives to continually experience reminders, triggers, if you will, that each time again triggers this survival stress response. Over time, this results in the part of the brain that is vigilant for threat, which is the amygdala. Some people have called it like a smoke alarm. It actually causes the amygdala to be strengthened, and even larger in volume over time, as it's being strengthened and its neural connections are being strengthened.

Whereas the parts of the brain that are capable, the advanced brain that's capable of reasoning and judgment, and that might allow us to be calmer at times, those connections are being weakened. Over time, this results in a vicious cycle where the anxiety and the vigilance that's caused by the amygdala just keeps on increasing and it's a very difficult cycle to escape from. My name is Robert Niemeyer, and I'm a clinical psychologist who directs the Portland Institute for Loss and Transition, a global training institute for grief therapy. Prolong grief according to the World Health Organization and also the American Psychiatric Association refers to a form of mourning, of grieving, of pining for a loved one,

where the prominent symptom is really that of a preoccupation with that person's absence in our lives, a kind of persistent yearning for their physical presence once more. And so associated with that thing could be a whole gamut of negative emotion in terms of a sense of hopelessness, despair, acute anxiety, especially separation anxiety in connection with the one who has died. Often there's a very depressive tone to it. And so in this way, we're really talking about a persistent state in which our world grows

smaller and more painful in a way that rather than, you know, experiencing some alleviation across time may even worsen or remain almost in a fixed state. I think that for me and my sister, we kind of had an unspoken pact that we were going to do whatever we could, never to hurt our parents again, like whatever was within our control and sometimes stuff that wasn't in our control. And so, you know, we made choices that would make them feel safe, even though we couldn't protect them from the worst thing that they'd all. already experienced. The loss of my brother kind of broke my parents. I mean, their kids were their world, and this destroyed them. They were never the same people again.

There are a number of circumstances that can contribute to this outcome. The way in which people die, we know that, for example, violent and sudden deaths tend to be associated with higher levels of prolonged grief than do natural deaths that we approach with anticipation as in the course of a kind of illness that grows more grave across time. We know, too, that when the losses arrive too early in the lifespan, when we lose a young person, a child, most particularly, then the grief can be especially likely to to move in this more, almost a fixed state direction.

And there are features of us as bereaved people that also can contribute to this. If we have a sense, for example, of having invested enormously in a given relationship, maybe especially against a backdrop of having experienced other significant losses, so that this becomes a very security-enhancing bond of a unique kind in our lives in which we have few other people who might step into a role of feeling close and supportive to us that we allow to get close.

Then, of course, the dependency in that relationship can also contribute to the anguish and the duration of the pain that we suffer afterward. So there are a variety of circumstances as well as sort of internal states of being in our own history that can lead us more into this difficult path. I think when Shared died was the start of our friendship. Well, also, I think that mark.

a time when we realize we're the only ones there for each other and now with the loss of our parents I think that's accentuated even more you know but I also the last of the Mohicans I also feel like in some ways uh and I don't think we really talked about this but I feel like we kind of made an unspoken pact because we've never really talked about it in terms of trying to do whatever was within our capacity to do to never really cause our parents any grief or pain. Yeah, I think for me it also marked a kind of, I always felt kind of responsible

for things and I think after Shera died I kind of felt like I couldn't I couldn't rely on my parents to be kind of in charge of things anymore that I had to be in charge and so that meant

everything you know in terms of how we lived and finances and arranging the, you know, if there was a breakdown of an appliance or, you know, whatever, it was everything all-encompassing. And that just intensified with time.

And so I think Sherrod's death was that inflection point where, you know, my parents went from running the family to me. So how did you cope with your grief? I don't think I did. I don't think you did either. I just suppressed it. I just dealt with the next thing I had to do, and I kept doing it.

And I kept doing it really until Mom died, because there was always the next thing to do, and I had to keep doing it. But I know that. I don't think you think I know that, but I do. It's good to hear you see it, though. As you said, it's sort of the realization that the things that you've put at the center of your life and focus of your energy, that those people, for whom you have gone through all of this stuff, are no longer there.

And so then you have to think about, well, does your life have any meaning without that? That's something I'm still struggling with. Yeah. I think what you went through after Mom died four years ago, almost four years ago now, was something I went through sort of in the early 2000s. And so part of the therapy I went through at the time was to try and figure out how to address this immense grief we've been living through. I think over time, my relationship with grief has changed. I think I tried doing what you did for a long time, like until the depression hit, which is you compartmentalize it and you just move.

forward. But as someone I recently spoke to said, it's a bit like a bump in the carpet. You're constantly tripping over it. And at some point, you have to pick up the carpet and get rid of the bump. But you never really do. I mean, one of the trigger points for the eruptions I have around grief, like, other than, you know, the fact that there was a flawed investigation, sort of a verdict that was less than satisfactory. That's not apart from it. No, no. That really augmented it and still does.

I agree. So these were flashpoints where it became more acute, where the grief became kind of unbearable. But I found, like, after all those big events, like, like, you know, leading up to Harper's, Prime Minister Harper's apology, 25 years later. I find the memorial days still unpredictable when it comes to grief. Like some years, I'm raging, like, ready to explode. And then some years, it's like I just want to get through it. And then some years, I'm really resentful because I don't want to be at a memorial.

service. I want to be doing something else to remember, Shara. You know, initially, people would get together with the idea of having strength in numbers to ask for justice. But as time went on, it became apparent that that justice was never coming. And here, I mean, we can go through all of the missteps. the botched investigation, the loss of evidence, the failure of airport controls, the fight between CES and the RCMP, the lack of prosecuting people who were involved, the people who were prosecuted eventually weren't even the masterminds, the interventions of people who thought that they were,

delivering justice in India by, you know, taking matters in their own hands. All of this just meant that there was never, that right people were never brought to justice. And what really, really rankles is the fact that it's still not really even in the Canadian consciousness. People don't think of it as a Canadian tragedy. So for an immigrant community, it reinforces your otherness in a very practical way. This year marked the 40th anniversary of the Air India bombing. End of Shard's death. It was special because it was just the two of us, so then me.

I feel lucky that we had a few moments to pray for Shard together. I'd been fretting for the last few years. There's, you know, people who've met me after Sharad often don't know that I had a brother. And sometimes when people find out, they say, oh, my God, we're so sorry, we had no idea. But I realized that I have nothing of Sharad in the house, like no visible signs of him in my home. You have this picture? I just put up that picture until earlier this year. There was nothing of Shara than the house. I have everything. I know. And I realized part of my dilemma was, you know, how we have that last photo of Shad from the family portrait. Yeah. That was the last

photo we have of him. From our parents' 25th anniversary party. Which is everywhere. And I didn't want that photo. So that was the first of May. His birthday was the 7th of June. He got his driving license somewhere shortly after that. And the crash was on the 23rd of June all in 1985. Yeah. But for me, I couldn't bear to put that photo up.

So it's taken me almost 40 years to decide. When I thought about why didn't I do it, it before. I don't think I was ready. I don't think I could bear the daily reminder. And so it took me a long time to think about, well, what photo do I want? And what would make me happy to see all the time? We have this photo of the two of us, and it was taken at the the end of a night when we'd gone to attend a wedding. And we'd been running around, hopped on pop the whole evening. And, you know, I'm wearing married chains.

And one of the buckles is broken. We look like holligans. And the family photographer was a friend of ours. And so he had put these flower garlands around our. around us and told us to pose for a photo because he was going to take a photo for posteri. And there we are standing there with my hands slightly over my brother's hand. I'm standing a bit above him and we're both looking like complete rascals. I just love that photo because it encapsulates our relationship.

There was a protectiveness, a fun, kind of a joy in each other's company that I have failed to have with anybody else in my life, frankly. And, you know, I think that photo encapsulates the essence of the relationship I had with my brother. So I finally put up that photo earlier this year. And I have to say, it brings me great joy. Like, I don't feel sad when I see it. I feel like it's a good reminder of what we had. And that was all that remains, from contributor Sujata Berry. This episode of Ideas was produced by Nahid Mustafa.

Our web producer is Lisa Ayuso. producers Danielle Duval and Emily Kiervezio. The senior producer is Nikola Luxchich. Greg Kelly is the executive producer of ideas, and I'm Nala Ayyid. For more CBC podcasts, go to CBC.ca slash podcasts.