It took us a little while to figure this out.
The second anniversary arrived and we were not prepared for it. Not because we had forgotten — you do not forget the anniversary of the day you delivered your stillborn daughter. (If you haven’t read Lucy Grace’s story yet, you can find it here). But because we had convinced ourselves that we were further along than we were. That the new normal we had found in the months leading up to it would hold on that day too.
It did not.
We learned something that second year —
You cannot always predict how a grief anniversary will land.
And trying to push through it like any other day is not strength. It is just a different kind of ‘not okay.’
Why We Take the Day Off
After that second year we made a decision.
We take the day off.
Not just my husband and me — our whole family. We create space. We slow down. We let the day be what it needs to be without the pressure of normal life crowding in around it.
Let me tell you how we got there — because the lesson did not come all at once.
If you haven’t read my story of burying grief – and what finally helped – you can read that here.
The first year we knew the anniversary was coming and we planned intentionally. We took the kids and did something fun together — something that honored Lucy Grace and then celebrated life. We knew that all the firsts were significant. We knew we needed to prepare. And so we did — and it helped.
The second year we thought we were further along – whatever that means.
In the months leading up to the second anniversary we had more good days than hard ones. More laughter than tears. And somewhere in that season of feeling more like ourselves again we made an assumption —
Maybe this year the anniversary would feel like a new normal too.
It did not.
The emotions rushed back for both of us — not gradually, not gently, but with the full force of a grief that had not diminished just because we had been carrying it more quietly. And what we realized in the middle of that day — scrambling to find our footing without having created any space to land — was something I have not forgotten since:
Even when we are not consciously processing our loss — our bodies are.
Grief does not wait for our permission. It does not check whether we have scheduled time for it or whether we have decided we are past it. It lives in us at a level that goes deeper than our conscious awareness — and on the anniversary of a significant loss it has a way of surfacing whether we are ready or not.
What we learned that second year was this —
If we tried to rush past this day we would actually be burying a pain that needed to be remembered in order to continue growing toward health.
Burying it is not the same as healing it.
Pushing through is not the same as moving forward.
And so from that year on — we took the day off. As a family, for many years. And more recently it has looked different — for me it is still a day I protect and hold carefully. For others in my family the rhythm has shifted over time as grief has changed shape for each of them.
And that is okay.
Grief does not look the same for every person in a family. The way someone honors an anniversary — or chooses not to — does not measure how much they loved the person they lost. It measures where they are in their own journey. And those journeys do not always run on the same timeline.
What matters is that the day is not ignored. What matters is that she is remembered. What matters is that the space exists — for whoever needs it, in whatever form they need it.
The Years That Fall on the Same Day
There is something I want to mention that caught us off guard the first time it happened —
Grief anniversaries that fall on the same day of the week as the original loss hit differently.
Lucy Grace was born sleeping on a Monday morning. Most years the anniversary falls on a different day — a Thursday, a Tuesday. But approximately every six years the date falls on the same day of the week again.
Those years land harder.
Not because the grief is larger — but because the ordinary rhythm of that day carries a memory that the other days don’t. Something about the same morning light, the same day-of-week feeling, the same sequence of hours — it brings it back in a more visceral way.
We did not anticipate that the first time it happened.
Now we know to pay attention to it.
If you are navigating grief anniversaries — it might be worth noting which day of the week your loss occurred. Not to dread the years when it comes around again — but to be gentle with yourself when it does. To take the space you need. To not be surprised by the weight of it.
What We Do
I am going to keep the specific details of how we spend the day close to our family — some things are meant to stay private and sacred.
But I will tell you the spirit of it.
We say her name. We remember out loud. We tell stories — the ones we have told before and the ones that surface fresh each year. We give ourselves permission to feel whatever is there without rushing past it or explaining it away. We do something that honors her — something that says you were here and you mattered and we have not forgotten.
And we do it together — or alone, or somewhere in between, depending on the year and the person and what the day requires.
For the Children
One of the things I am most grateful for is that our children have grown up in a family where Lucy Grace’s anniversary is acknowledged and honored every year.
They were almost four and almost six when we lost her. They asked questions then that were appropriate for their ages. And as they have grown — those questions have grown with them. Each year the anniversary gives us a natural and gentle opportunity to revisit her story at whatever level of understanding they are at now.
That is one of the gifts of creating an annual rhythm around grief —
It gives children a framework.
It tells them that death is not something we pretend did not happen. That the people we lose do not get quietly retired from our family story. That saying someone’s name — even years later, even when it hurts — is one of the most loving things we can do.
Lucy Grace is part of our family. She always will be. And our children will grow up knowing that.
You Do Not Have to Have It All Figured Out
If you are reading this and you have never created any kind of ritual around your grief anniversary — please hear me —
There is no right way to do this.
There is no perfect rhythm. No formula. No grief anniversary checklist that will guarantee you feel the right things in the right order.
There is only the intention to create space.
To say — on this day, every year, I am going to slow down and remember. I am going to honor the person I lost. I am going to give my grief a place to go rather than pushing it down and hoping it stays there.
That intention alone is enough to start.
Maybe for you it looks like taking the day off work. Maybe it looks like visiting a grave or a meaningful place. Maybe it looks like cooking a favorite meal or planting something or releasing something. Maybe it looks like gathering the people who loved them and telling stories around a table. Maybe it looks like sitting quietly alone with God and letting yourself feel whatever is there.
Whatever it looks like for your family — do it intentionally. Do it consistently. And do it without apology.
Because the people we have loved and lost deserve to be remembered.
Not just in the first year when the grief is fresh and everyone understands.
But every year. For as long as we are here to remember them.
A Note on the Grief That Surprises You
One more thing before I close —
Grief anniversaries are not the only days that will catch you off guard.
Sometimes it is a random Tuesday in March with no particular significance that suddenly feels impossibly heavy. Sometimes it is a song on the radio or a smell or a stranger’s laugh that sounds like theirs. Sometimes it is a milestone — a birthday they never reached, a graduation they never attended, a wedding they never saw.
Grief does not stay on the calendar.
And that is okay.
When it arrives unexpectedly — on the ordinary days, in the quiet moments, in the middle of something completely unrelated — give yourself the same grace you would give yourself on the anniversary. I wrote about the hand metaphor – and what grief looks like as it changes over time – here.
Slow down. Feel it. Say their name. And trust that the God who is close to the brokenhearted is just as present on the random Tuesday as He is on the anniversary.
“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” — Hebrews 13:8
He does not take days off from being faithful.
And you do not have to take days off from grieving.
If your family has created rituals around a grief anniversary that have helped you — I would love to hear about them in the comments. And if this post found you in the middle of a hard anniversary season right now — I am so glad you are here. You are not alone.
Share this with someone who needs permission to slow down and remember.
The spiritual practices that helped us create intentional space for grief are ones I wrote about here.