Grief Changed Me (Part 2): Learning to Live in the After

There is a moment after loss that people don’t talk about.

It’s the moment when the casseroles stop coming.

When the messages slow down.

When the world gently — or sometimes abruptly — expects you to return to normal.

But the truth is this:

There is no normal after burying your child.

There is only after.

After the hospital rooms.

After the machines.

After the prayers that sounded like pleading.

After the silence that followed.

And after my sons, Darren & Jaxon, left this earth.

People often ask, sometimes with kindness and sometimes with discomfort, “How are you doing?”

The honest answer is layered.

Some days I am strong.

Some days I am surviving.

And some days I am simply breathing because breathing is the only thing I can manage.

Scripture reminds us that even breathing can be enough.

“Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.”

— Psalm 150:6

Sometimes praise looks like worship music and lifted hands.

And sometimes praise looks like just staying alive another day.

Grief has taught me that both count.

The Myth of Moving On

People say things like:

“You’re so strong.”

“You’ll move forward.”

“You’ll get through this.”

But grief does not ask us to move on.

Grief asks us to carry love forward.

Because grief is not the absence of love.

Grief is love with nowhere to go.

And when you lose a child, that love doesn’t disappear.

It changes shape.

It becomes quieter.

Deeper.

Holier.

The Bible reminds us that God sits inside that place with us.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

— Psalm 34:18

Notice what that verse does not say.

It does not say God rushes us past the brokenness.

It says He stays close inside it.

The Sacredness of Remembering

One thing I have learned is this:

We must talk about our children.

We must say their names.

We must remember their stories.

Because memory is sacred.

When I speak about Darren & Jaxon, I am not reopening a wound.

I am honoring a life.

When I talk about his room, his smile, his bed, the things that filled his days, I am not dwelling in sadness.

I am acknowledging that love existed here.

And love still exists.

Jesus Himself understood remembrance.

At the Last Supper He told His disciples:

“Do this in remembrance of me.”

— Luke 22:19

Remembrance is holy.

It keeps love alive.

What Grief Is Teaching Me

Grief has stripped away a lot of things.

The small talk.

The pretending.

The pressure to perform happiness for others.

But grief has also given me something powerful.

Clarity.

Clarity about what matters.

People matter.

Time matters.

Love matters.

Everything else is secondary.

And when you’ve held your child’s hand in their final moments, you begin to understand something most people spend their entire lives chasing.

Life is fragile.

Life is sacred.

And every single day is a gift.

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

— Psalm 90:12

Grief has taught me to number my days differently.

Not by accomplishments.

But by moments.

Learning to Breathe Again

There are days when the weight of loss sits heavy on my chest.

On those days, I remember something simple.

Breathe.

Not for tomorrow.

Not for next year.

Just for this moment.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Because breath means life.

And life means God is still writing something.

“He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.”

— Isaiah 40:29

If you are grieving, let me tell you something important.

You don’t have to be strong every day.

You just have to keep breathing.

Walking Forward With Faith

Grief has changed me.

But it has not taken my faith.

If anything, it has made my faith more honest.

More raw.

More real.

I no longer pray perfect prayers.

I pray desperate ones.

But God hears those too.

Because scripture promises this:

“The Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”

— Romans 8:26

Even when we cannot find the words, heaven understands.

And so I keep walking.

Not because I have all the answers.

But because I believe God is still present in the questions.

I walk forward carrying the love of my sons.

I walk forward with my husband Darryl, learning together what life looks like now.

And I walk forward believing this promise:

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.”

— Revelation 21:4

One day, the story will be restored.

One day, grief will end.

And until that day, we keep breathing.

We keep loving.

And we keep remembering.