"My brother was killed in a drive-by shooting. My heart is shattered."

Australian baseball player Chris Lane was brutally gunned down in a drive-by shooting by three teenagers in Oklahoma in 2013. Two of his killers have been given life sentences; this week, a third was sentenced to 25 years in prison. Chris was a young, promising athlete who’d simply gone out for a jog when the shocking event took place. Here, his sister Andrea explains the profound impact the shooting has had on her life – and that of her family – in the years since. 

My life changed forever on August 16, 2013.

That day, my beautiful brother died.

Death is not the finale you believe it to be when you’re a kid. When you’re a child, death is always explained as something that happens to old people. When it’s an older adult, someone who has lived a fulfilling life, celebrated milestones, become wise with age and seen the world change over decades, death seems like the final step in a journey, one that gives them eternal peace.

But when my brother died, everything I had even been told about death was turned on its head.

My heart shattered. I felt more sadness in that moment than in my whole 29 years. When someone is ripped from you at a young age, without warning and in tragic circumstances, death is not so final. Death becomes something that lingers.

Like many 29 year olds, I didn’t consider myself a fully grown adult. Yes, I had a house and a baby and another on the way. I always felt part of a community. But I wasn’t an adult in that circle just yet. The ‘adults’ were around to guide me, give advice and be role models.

In the moment we were told Chris was gone, I was thrown into the unknown. I became a stranger in my community. The people around me didn’t know what to say or do.

Grieving has no bounds, no rules. It is surprising and gut wrenching, and can render you childlike in just minutes.

I was depressed, sad and lost. I did what I think most of my generation does. I googled. I googled for explanations of how I was feeling, I googled for quotes that explained the way I felt.

I got nothing.

I found blogs, quotes all about losing young kids, miscarriage, still birth, losing grandparents, parents and those from long illnesses. What I didn't find was what to do when you lose someone in their 20s when you are in your 20s too.

I read all about stages of grieving. But no one could tell me what a woman who is 13 weeks pregnant and mum to an 18-month-old daughter could do when her baby brother is shot dead thousands of miles away by a random stranger.

I watched my family and sisters get drunk and stay in bed because getting up wasn’t something they could fathom. After days without sleep, they took sleeping tablets to get a break from their thoughts and the questions.

But what does someone who is 13 weeks pregnant take? What does she do when her toddler is crying at 1am?

I couldn't sleep, I couldn't escape my thoughts, I couldn't drink with Chris’s friends and hear stories about his school days and nights out.

I was at home, with horrible day sickness, looking after our daughter. The only relief I got was surfing the net, finding solace in Facebook posts people wrote about Chris and the lasting impression he had left on them, and sobbing loudly sobbing in the shower.

Grieving felt harder. I felt ripped off and stuck. But I had no choice. My beautiful little girl woke up every morning and smiled at me. She looked at me as if the world was our playground. What adventure would we have today? I had to be the adult I didn’t yet consider myself to be. I had to be stronger than I knew I could be.

The trial of Chris's killers and their associates has been drawn out. Every time there is another hearing or sentencing, it throws you right back to day one.

The sentencing of the three boys in the car hasn't brought me any closure because from the beginning I never wanted anything in this to be about them. I wanted it to be about Chris, his achievement, his life and what we lost.

This week we were grateful when James Edwards was sentenced. It  will hopefully be the last time our minds and hearts are dragged back into the courtroom, waiting to see if some type of justice is served.

Grief is an emotion I now believe to be eternal.

My family and I still have so many pivotal life moments and grief springs its ugly head at them all. Three years on, we can tell stories about Chris without crying and we can talk about his shortcomings and laugh, but momentous life events will never bring pure elation. They can't be when one of us is missing.

Our beautiful little girl Olivia Harper joined us in February 2014. Babies bring new life and hope, they melt even the hardest of hearts. I was absolutely in love with her.

But at the same time, I thought 'this is a moment Chris will never get'. He will never be a father. I will never share the excitement of introducing her to him. She was robbed of an uncle who would have loved her unconditionally.

I watched as we struggled with a tug of war between happiness and the feeling the world was bitterly unfair. A moment that should have been pure joy was tainted as people visited and tried not to be sad when they saw us.

We try and be strong for each other, we don’t want to bring someone else day or moment down, but it’s so hard when we are all thinking the same thing.

When did life get so unfair?