What I Wish People Knew About Grieving Moms

There’s a silent club no one ever asks to join. It has no excited welcome committee, no party favors, and no exit door. And once you’re in......you see the world differently forever. 

I’m a grieving mom. 

That phrase alone carries more weight than most can imagine. And while grief is universal, the grief of a mother.....especially one who has lost a child.....is a language few can speak fluently. 

If you’ve never walked this road, I don’t expect you to understand. But if you love someone who’s grieving, I hope you’ll read this with an open heart. 

Here are a few things I wish people knew: 

1. Grief doesn’t follow a timeline.  There’s no finish line or magical moment when the weight lifts and I “move on.” Time might soften the sharpest edges, but grief is not a wound that fully closes. 

It’s a scar that stays.....one I wear every day. 

Sometimes people expect me to be “better” because a few years have passed. But I’m not on a schedule. I’m not working toward some emotional graduation date. I wake up each day and learn to carry the weight again. 

Some days I carry it with strength. Other days I crumble under it. Please don’t confuse silence with healing. I might not talk about it every day, but that doesn’t mean the ache has gone away. It’s simply become a part of me.

2. Triggers are EVERYWHERE......ALL DAY LONG. I wish people understood how relentless grief can be. 

I’m not just triggered once in a while

.....it happens constantly. 

I hear Levi’s voice in places we used to go. I see his face in the rearview mirror on the familiar roads we traveled together. Sometimes I replay whole conversations in my mind.....exactly where they happened.....like echoes that won’t leave me alone. 

When I think about the age he would’ve been....it stops me in my tracks. He would’ve been 27 this year. And when I think about him turning 30… it ties my stomach in knots. How do you survive a milestone they should’ve reached, but never will? This grief is layered. It doesn’t just grieve the past.....it mourns a future that will never be. 

3. Saying their name is a gift, not a curse.  One of the biggest misunderstandings people have is thinking they shouldn’t bring him up, that it will make me sad or remind me of what I’ve lost. 

But the truth is, I never forget. 

You won’t remind me...you’ll honor him. 

You’ll show me that he mattered to someone besides me. And that’s a gift I treasure more than you could know. Please say his name! Talk about him! Remember him with me! Let his life ripple on through the memories we share. <3 

4. Joy and sorrow CAN coexist and I’ve learned to hold both.....the joy of the life I still have and the sorrow for the one I’ve lost. I can laugh with my daughters and still cry for Levi. I can celebrate Christmas and ache inside at the same time. I used to think I had to choose between smiling and grieving....that if I laughed, I was dishonoring my pain. Now I know the truth: grief and joy don’t cancel each other out, they actually testify to each other. 

I grieve deeply because I love deeply. 

And I still find moments of joy because 

God has not abandoned me in the valley. 

Don’t judge my grief by whether or not I’m crying in front of you. Sometimes the bravest thing I do is smile while carrying an invisible weight. 

5. Faith doesn’t cancel the ache. If I didn’t have God, I would be a mad and chaotic mess. There’s no soft way to say it. 

My faith is not a pretty accessory.....it’s a lifeline. 

It’s the only thing that steadies me when the waves of grief pull me under. Yes, I believe Levi is with Jesus. Yes, I believe I’ll see him again. But even with all of that truth, the ache remains. Faith doesn’t erase the pain....it just gives it purpose and a place to land. I’ve leaned hard on God through this journey.....sometimes desperate, sometimes angry, always broken. 

And I’ve found Him faithful through it all. 

6. I’m still me....but I’m not the same. Grief changes everything. It has shaped me in ways I never expected. I’m more sensitive now....more compassionate....more grounded. But I’m also more guarded, more tired, and more aware that this life is fragile and fast. 

The old me - the one before the loss - she’s gone. 

And I mourn her, too. 

But God is making something new in me, 

even in this pain. He’s writing a story through my sorrow 

that I never would’ve chosen, but I trust Him with every word. 

Please don’t expect me to “go back.” I’m becoming someone new....and that woman is learning to walk with a limp and still carry light. 

Are you walking this road? I'm so sorry. Let me hold your hand. Please know...you’re not weak. You’re not alone or forgotten.

You are a mother and your child matters.  YOU matter.  

And God ...... the same God who wept at Lazarus’ tomb, is still walking with you now. You don’t have to have it all together. 

You just have to keep breathing and 

fully lean into the One who catches every tear.  

I can testify to that!