The Rieu family — and millions of fans worldwide — are mourning the passing of Sister Leona, the eldest sister of world-renowned violinist André Rieu. At 105 years old, she was not only his biggest supporter, but also a quiet presence in the background of his remarkable journey.

Her passing, just hours ago, has triggered an emotional wave online — not only because of who she was, but because of what she left behind.

In the hours following her death, a handwritten diary she had kept for decades surfaced — and its contents are now going viral across social media. Neatly bound in a faded leather cover, the diary contains over 70 years of personal reflections, prayers, and memories — including rare, never-before-heard stories about her little brother: André.

In one entry dated 1987, she wrote:

“He doesn’t know this, but I prayed every night that his hands would never fail him. That his music would never lose its soul. And that the world would hear what I’ve heard since he was just a boy in our living room.”

The diary reveals a side of André Rieu that few have seen — the shy, sensitive boy who struggled with his father’s expectations… the teenager who stayed up late practicing waltzes alone… the young man who almost gave up music altogether after a family tragedy.

But perhaps the most moving moment is in her final entry, just days before her passing.

“If he plays The Second Waltz at my grave, I will hear it. Even in heaven. And I will smile.”

André did just that. In a private moment, with no cameras or orchestra, he stood by her grave and played her favorite piece, hands trembling, eyes wet with grief.

According to a family friend, André was later seen holding the diary close to his chest, whispering, “She carried my music… long before the world ever did.”

As fans across the world light candles and share her words, one thing is clear: Sister Leona may be gone, but her love — and her legacy — live on in every note André Rieu plays.

And now, thanks to her diary, we are all hearing a deeper melody: one of devotion, memory, and the quiet strength of a sister’s love that never faded — not even after 105 years.