There are many kinds of grief, but losing a child is difficult to put into words.

It is not simply sadness.

It is not something that arrives, stays for a while, and then disappears when enough time has passed.

When your child dies, something fundamental about your world changes. The future you imagined disappears. The everyday routines you once took for granted become memories. The person you loved, worried about, protected, encouraged, and expected to have in your life is suddenly no longer physically there.

And somehow, you are expected to keep living.

People may see you walking, talking, working, laughing, or going about your day and assume that you are doing better.

What they cannot see is everything happening inside you.

That is one of the hardest things about child loss.

You can look completely normal while carrying a grief that has changed nearly everything about who you are.

I know because I have lived it.

After losing my son, Paul, I learned that grief is not one emotion. It is an entire collection of emotions, memories, questions, physical reactions, and moments of longing that can appear when you least expect them.

Some days grief feels like unbearable sadness.

Other days it feels like loneliness.

Sometimes it is anger.

Sometimes it is guilt.

Sometimes it is numbness.

And sometimes grief is simply the overwhelming desire to hear your child’s voice one more time.

Grief Feels Like Something Is Missing Everywhere You Go

After your child dies, their absence seems to follow you.

You notice the empty places.

The empty chair.

The quiet room.

The missing phone call.

The person who should be walking through the door but never will.

Ordinary moments can suddenly become painful because your mind automatically remembers how those moments used to be.

You may walk through a grocery store and see something your child loved.

You may hear a song they listened to.

You may drive past a restaurant where you ate together.

You may see someone who looks like them from behind, and for half a second your heart forgets what happened.

Then reality returns.

That tiny moment can hurt more than people realize.

Your mind knows your child is gone, but part of your heart continues looking for them.

Grief Feels Like Wanting to Make One More Phone Call

There are moments when you instinctively want to call your child.

Something happens and you think:

I need to tell them about this.

Then you remember.

You cannot make that call.

For parents who have lost a child, the phone can become a painful reminder of what has been lost.

You may remember their number.

You may remember their name appearing on your screen.

You may remember the sound of their voice answering.

What once seemed completely ordinary becomes incredibly precious.

Most people do not realize how valuable an ordinary conversation is until they would give almost anything to have one more.

Not necessarily some profound final conversation.

Just an ordinary one.

“How are you?”

“What are you doing?”

“Did you eat?”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“I love you.”

Those simple words become treasures.

Grief Feels Like Your Future Was Taken Away Too

When a child dies, parents do not only grieve the life that was lived.

We grieve the life that should have been lived.

We wonder about everything that might have happened.

What would they have done?

Where would they have lived?

Who would they have become?

Would they have gotten married?

Would they have had children?

What would birthdays have looked like ten years from now?

What conversations would we have had as we both grew older?

There are countless moments that existed in our imagination but will never happen.

That creates a unique kind of grief.

You are mourning memories you never had the opportunity to make.

Grief Feels Physical

Grief is often discussed as though it exists entirely inside the mind.

It does not.

Grief can affect the entire body.

You may feel exhausted even after sleeping.

Your chest may feel heavy.

Your appetite may disappear or increase.

Concentration can become difficult.

Simple tasks can require enormous amounts of energy.

There may be days when getting out of bed feels like an accomplishment.

That does not mean you are weak.

Grieving requires energy.

Your mind is trying to understand something it never wanted to understand while your body is responding to tremendous emotional stress.

There were times after losing my son when simply making it through the day was enough.

Sometimes survival is the victory.

Grief Feels Like Living in Two Different Worlds

After child loss, there can be a strange feeling that the world should have stopped.

Your world did.

But everything else continued.

People went to work.

Cars drove down the street.

Stores opened.

People complained about small inconveniences.

Television shows continued.

People laughed.

Birthdays happened.

Holidays arrived.

Life kept moving.

Meanwhile, you may be thinking:

How can everyone continue as though nothing happened?

Something enormous happened.

Your child died.

Yet the rest of the world keeps turning.

Eventually you learn how to exist in both realities.

There is the outside world where life continues.

And there is the private world inside you where your child remains part of everything.

Grief Feels Lonely

One of the hardest parts of losing a child is discovering how lonely grief can become.

In the beginning, people may call frequently.

They send messages.

They bring food.

They check on you.

They attend the funeral or memorial.

Then life slowly returns to normal for them.

But it does not return to normal for you.

Weeks become months.

Months become years.

People stop asking.

Some become uncomfortable when you mention your child.

Others may worry that saying your child’s name will make you sad.

What they may not understand is that you are already thinking about your child.

Hearing their name does not remind you that they died.

You never forgot.

Hearing their name reminds you that somebody else remembers they lived.

There is an enormous difference.

Grief Feels Like Everyone Else Has Moved Forward

Eventually you may look around and realize that other people’s lives have continued changing.

Children grow older.

Families celebrate milestones.

People get married.

Careers advance.

Vacations happen.

Grandchildren arrive.

Life continues unfolding.

And sometimes you feel stuck between the life you had and the life you are trying to build.

That can be painful.

You may even feel guilty when you begin moving forward yourself.

You might laugh and suddenly wonder whether you should be laughing.

You might enjoy an evening and later feel guilty because you enjoyed yourself.

You might consider dating, traveling, changing careers, or doing something new and wonder whether moving forward somehow means leaving your child behind.

It does not.

Moving forward is not the same thing as moving on.

You do not have to leave your child behind in order to continue living.

You carry them forward with you.

Grief Feels Like Guilt

Many grieving parents struggle with questions that begin with two words:

What if?

What if I had noticed something?

What if I had called?

What if I had done something differently?

What if I had been there?

What if I could have prevented it?

The mind desperately searches for another ending.

It rewrites the story again and again.

That is one of grief’s cruelest habits.

We judge ourselves with information we only had afterward.

Sometimes there simply is no version of events that gives us the ending we desperately wanted.

Yet the questions remain.

Parents are wired to protect their children.

When we cannot protect them from death, that instinct can turn inward and become guilt.

Grief Feels Like Anger

People sometimes feel uncomfortable admitting that grief can include anger.

But it can.

You may be angry at circumstances.

Angry at other people.

Angry at yourself.

Angry at the unfairness of what happened.

You may even become angry when you see other families together.

Not because you want anything bad to happen to them.

You simply want what they still have.

You want your child.

Grief does not always appear as tears.

Sometimes grief is frustration.

Sometimes it is silence.

Sometimes it is anger directed at a world that continued after yours fell apart.

Grief Feels Different on Birthdays and Holidays

Certain dates become permanently connected to your child.

Their birthday.

The anniversary of their death.

Christmas.

Thanksgiving.

Father’s Day.

Mother’s Day.

Family celebrations.

Sometimes the anticipation of these dates is worse than the actual day.

You know they are coming.

You remember what those days used to look like.

You remember traditions.

You remember photographs.

You remember laughter.

Then the empty place becomes impossible to ignore.

Years may pass, but a date on the calendar can suddenly make everything feel incredibly close again.

That does not mean you have gone backward.

Grief does not follow a straight line.

Grief Feels Like Memories Becoming Priceless

After losing a child, memories change.

Things you barely thought about before can become incredibly important.

A photograph.

A voicemail.

A text message.

A birthday card.

A piece of clothing.

A favorite meal.

An inside joke.

A video.

A handwritten note.

A simple memory of sitting together doing absolutely nothing important.

You begin to understand that the ordinary moments were never ordinary.

They were life.

We often think the biggest memories will matter most.

Sometimes they do.

But sometimes what you miss most is sitting in the same room together.

You miss knowing they were nearby.

You miss their footsteps.

You miss their laugh.

You miss their habits.

You miss hearing them call your name.

You miss the ordinary life you once assumed would continue.

Grief Feels Like Being Afraid People Will Forget

One fear many bereaved parents carry is that their child will eventually be forgotten.

The world continues.

New people enter our lives who never met our children.

Years pass.

Fewer people mention them.

That can hurt deeply.

Our children mattered.

Their lives mattered.

Their stories mattered.

Their names matter.

This is one reason I believe saying their names is so important.

My son’s name is Paul.

He existed.

He lived.

He mattered.

He was loved.

Death cannot erase those truths.

As long as I am here, he remains part of my story.

Grief Feels Like Love With Nowhere Physical to Go

Perhaps one of the best descriptions of grief is this:

Grief is love that continues after someone dies.

When your child dies, your love does not disappear.

You still love them just as fiercely.

You simply cannot express that love in the ways you once did.

You cannot hug them.

You cannot call them.

You cannot sit beside them.

You cannot ask how their day went.

You cannot tell them to drive safely.

You cannot tell them you love them and hear them answer.

The relationship changes, but the love remains.

That is why grief remains too.

If love continues, some form of grief will continue with it.

Grief Changes Over Time

People sometimes talk about “getting over” grief.

I do not believe losing a child works that way.

You learn to carry it.

In the beginning, grief can consume nearly every moment.

Eventually there may be small spaces between the waves.

Then larger spaces.

You begin having moments where you laugh without immediately feeling guilty.

You discover that you can experience happiness and sadness at the same time.

You can miss your child desperately while still appreciating something beautiful.

You can grieve while rebuilding your life.

You can cry in the morning and laugh that afternoon.

Those emotions do not cancel each other out.

Healing does not mean forgetting.

Healing means learning how to live while remembering.

There Is No Correct Timeline for Grieving a Child

One year is not a deadline.

Neither is five years.

Neither is ten.

There is no date when a parent is supposed to stop missing their child.

People may expect grief to become smaller with time.

Sometimes it does.

Sometimes we simply become stronger at carrying it.

Imagine carrying a heavy stone everywhere you go.

At first, you can barely hold it.

Eventually your muscles strengthen.

The stone may weigh exactly the same, but you have learned how to carry it.

That is sometimes what grief feels like.

The loss does not become insignificant.

You become more capable of living alongside it.

Moving Forward Does Not Mean Leaving Your Child Behind

This took me time to understand.

Continuing to live is not betraying the person you lost.

Finding happiness again is not forgetting them.

Laughing is not disrespecting their memory.

Loving someone else does not erase your love for your child.

Building a future does not destroy your past.

For a long time, grief can convince you that remaining miserable is somehow proof of how deeply you loved your child.

But love does not require us to destroy ourselves.

I want my life to honor my son.

That means remembering him.

Talking about him.

Writing about him.

Helping other grieving parents.

And trying to become the man my son believed I could be.

I cannot change what happened.

I cannot rewrite October 25, 2021.

I cannot bring Paul back.

But I can decide what I do with the life I still have.

Sometimes Survival Is Enough

If you recently lost a child, you may read words about purpose, healing, and rebuilding and think:

I cannot even imagine that.

That is okay.

You do not have to rebuild your entire life today.

You do not need to know what the next five years will look like.

Sometimes you only need to survive today.

Get through this hour.

Then the next.

Eat something.

Drink some water.

Rest.

Talk to someone you trust.

Cry when you need to cry.

Say your child’s name.

Remember them.

There will be time later to figure out what comes next.

You Will Always Be Their Parent

Death changes many things.

It does not change the fact that your child is your child.

I will always be Paul’s father.

Nothing can take that away.

There is something comforting about recognizing this.

Parenthood does not end at death.

The relationship simply takes a different form.

Instead of caring for our children physically, we care for their memories.

We tell their stories.

We protect what they stood for.

We celebrate their lives.

We speak their names.

We carry their love forward.

What Grief After Losing a Child Really Feels Like

So what does grief feel like after the death of a child?

It feels like missing someone every day.

It feels like loving someone you can no longer hold.

It feels like remembering the past while grieving the future.

It feels like smiling at a memory and crying five seconds later.

It feels like looking perfectly fine while your heart is hurting.

It feels like wanting one more conversation.

One more hug.

One more ordinary day.

One more chance to say:

I love you.

But grief also changes.

Eventually, alongside the pain, gratitude can begin to appear.

You become grateful that your child existed.

Grateful for the years you had.

Grateful for the memories.

Grateful for the laughter.

Grateful that out of all the people in the world, you had the privilege of being their parent.

I would rather carry the pain of missing my son than erase the love that created that pain.

Because grief exists only because love existed first.

And that love is still here.

Carrying Our Children Forward

I do not believe we “move on” from our children.

We move forward with them.

I carry Paul into the person I am becoming.

I carry him through my writing.

I carry him through the way I try to help others.

I carry him through every story I tell about him.

And I carry him through the love that remains between a father and his son.

If you have lost a child, you may sometimes wonder whether anyone truly understands what you are carrying.

Other grieving parents do.

Our stories may be different, but many of us recognize that strange combination of love, pain, memory, loneliness, and determination.

We know what it means to wake up and face another day without the person we desperately wish were here.

And we know that continuing to live does not mean we stopped loving them.

Quite the opposite.

Sometimes continuing to live becomes another way of loving them.

What is one memory of your child that you hope you will carry with you for the rest of your life?

Say their name.

Tell their story.

Keep their memory alive.

Because our children were here.

They mattered.

They were loved.

And they will always be part of us.