Tag Archives: stillbirth

What Happens to Babies Who Die? — A Gentle, Faith-Based Answer for Grieving Families

What happens to babies who die? It is a question that lives underneath grief — one that grieving parents wrestle with in the quiet and brace for when their children ask it out loud.

It comes in different forms. Different voices. Different moments.

Sometimes the question surfaces in the middle of the night. Sometimes it comes from the back seat of a minivan, in the voice of a six-year-old who has been thinking about it for three days and finally found the courage to say it out loud.

Where did they go?
Is she/ he in heaven?
Did God want her/ him?
Does God love babies/ children who never got to grow up?

These are not small questions. They reach into the deepest places of grief and theology at the same time — and they deserve more than a rushed answer.

I want to try to offer some language — for yourself and for the conversation with your child.

A Note Before We Begin

These are questions I want to address honestly — because what happens to babies who die matters deeply and deserves a careful answer. What I am sharing here is my own theological understanding — the way I have read Scripture and the conviction I have come to after years of sitting with these questions personally. Others who love Jesus and take the Bible seriously may land in a slightly different place. I hold my view with humility and with the recognition that there are things about God’s mercy and God’s ways that are simply bigger than any of us can fully contain.

What I am confident of — deeply, unshakeably confident of — is that God is good. That He loves every child He has ever knit together. And that His grace is wider than our questions.

What Does the Bible Say?

The Bible does not give us a single direct verse that directly answers what happens to babies who die — or states plainly that all of them go to heaven. I want to be honest about that rather than pretend the answer is simpler than it is.

What the Bible does give us is a picture of God’s character — His love for children, His grace that reaches beyond human understanding, and His promise of eternal life for those who belong to Him.

Here is what I anchor myself to:

Jesus and the Little Children

“Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.'” — Matthew 19:14

This verse is not specifically about infant death. But it tells us something essential about Jesus and children — He welcomes them. He does not turn them away. The kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these. That phrase has always stopped me. Not belongs to those who have formally accepted me. Belongs to such as these — the ones who come to Him simply, openly, without pretense.

And for a child who never had the chance to come on their own — this is where I find my footing. A Jesus who welcomes children without condition is a Jesus I can trust with the ones whose time here was so short.

Known Before Birth

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” — Psalm 139:13

Every child — every single one — was known by God before they took their first breath. Madison Joy was known. Lucy Grace was known. Your child was known. Not as a concept. Not as a possibility. Known — by name, by face, by every little detail of who they were and who they were becoming.

A God who knits a child together with that kind of intentionality does not abandon them.

David’s Confidence

One of the most quietly powerful moments in all of Scripture comes in 2 Samuel 12. David has lost his infant son. He has been fasting and weeping and praying for the child’s life. And when the child dies — David gets up, washes his face, and says something that has sustained grieving parents for thousands of years:

“I will go to him, but he will not return to me.” — 2 Samuel 12:23

David was not expressing hopeless resignation. He was expressing confident hope. I will go to him. Not — I will never see him again. But — I will go to where he is. There is a where. There is a reunion waiting.

What strikes me about David is that this same man — the one who got up and washed his face with confident hope — also wrote some of the most raw and honest laments in all of Scripture. He knew how to hold grief and hope in the same hand. Not because he had everything figured out. But because he trusted the God who held both. [If you are in a season of grief and wrestling right now — I will be writing about lament and what it looks like to bring the real thing to God in the next couple of weeks.]

Grace That is Bigger Than Our Understanding

The age of accountability is not a phrase that appears in the Bible — but the concept behind it is rooted in God’s character throughout Scripture. The idea is that God — in His mercy and grace — receives children who die before they are old enough to understand and respond to the Gospel.

This is the position I hold. Not because Scripture states it explicitly — but because it is consistent with everything the Bible reveals about who God is. His justice. His mercy. His love for the vulnerable. His grace that Paul says in Romans 5 “abounded all the more” where sin — and the brokenness of this world — increased.

A God of that grace does not leave the most vulnerable without His care.

And your child — the one you are grieving, the one whose name you say quietly when no one is listening — is not outside the reach of that grace. They never were.

That is the theology I hold. Jesus knew your child. He came for them. And His promises hold.

What to Tell Your Child

Knowing what you believe theologically is one thing. Finding the words to say it to a grieving six-year-old at seven in the morning is another thing entirely.

Here is some language that might help — for the questions that surface when you least expect them. These are starting points, not scripts. Find the words that sound like you.

“Did they go to heaven?”

Yes. Jesus loves every baby — every single one. And the Bible tells us that Jesus came for [insert name here]. He knew him/ her and loved him/ her even before they were born. They are with Jesus now — safe and loved and more awake than they have ever been.

“Does God love babies who never grew up?”

Yes. God knit them together — He knew every little thing about them. He loved them before we ever held them. And because He loved her so much — He came for them.

“Will we see them again?”

Yes. The Bible promises that for everyone who belongs to Jesus — dying is not the end. It is like finally arriving at the place you were always meant to be. We will see them again. And until then — we can say their name, remember them, and trust that God is taking good care of them.

“Why did God let her die?”

That is one of the hardest questions there is. And I want to be honest with you — I don’t fully know the answer. Some things are too big even for grown-ups to fully understand. But I know this: God loved him/ her even more than we do. And I trust Him with what I cannot understand.

“Am I going to die too?“

Someday — but not for a very long time. Most people live many, many years, and your body is healthy and strong. God has given you so much life still to live. It is okay to ask this question. It doesn’t mean something is wrong — it means you are thinking hard about what happened, and that is a good and honest thing to do.

“Why do I still feel sad?“

Because you love them. And love doesn’t stop just because someone is gone. It is okay to still feel sad — even a long time later. Some days the sad feeling will be small and quiet. Some days it may feel big again. that doesn’t mean something is wrong with you. It means you remember. And remembering is one of the ways we keep loving someone, even when we can’t hold them anymore.

What to Hold Onto

If you came here asking what happens to babies who die — I hope you are leaving with something true to hold onto.If you are a grieving parent reading this — I want you to hear this directly:

Your child was known. By name. By face. By every detail of who they were.

The God who knit them together did not abandon them. The Jesus who said “let the little children come to me” welcomed them. The grace that Paul says abounds — abounds here too.

You will go to them. And I believe it with everything I have.

That is not a tidy answer to an untidy grief. It is not a bow on a box that deserves to stay open. It is just the truest thing I know to say — the thing that has held me through thirteen years of missing Lucy Grace and sixteen years of missing Madison Joy.

God has them.

And He has you too.

A Resource for the Conversation

If you are navigating this conversation with your own child — Mommy, Is Madison Sleeping? was written for exactly this moment. This is a faith-based picture book that walks children and parents through the honest, gentle, Scripture-rooted conversations that follow the death of a loved one — including where loved ones go when they die and whether Jesus loves them.

The manuscript is complete and I am actively pursuing publication. Subscribe below to be the first to know when it is available — because this book is coming, and I want you to have it when it does.

And if you are in a hard season right now — the free prayer list was made for exactly this. Prayers for yourself, your spouse, and your kids — for the hard days and the ordinary ones. 🤍

Because God is not finished with your story.

How to Talk to Your Child About Death — The Words That Help and the Ones to Avoid

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Nobody prepares you for this conversation.

You can read every parenting book on the shelf. You can feel confident about screen time and boundaries and how to handle a tantrum. And then one day — maybe suddenly, maybe after a long illness, maybe after a loss you did not see coming — your child looks up at you with those completely trusting eyes and asks the question you do not know how to answer.

Where did they go? Will you die too? Is he sleeping? Why do I still feel sad?

And you realize you are standing at the edge of the most important conversation you have ever had — with no script, no preparation, and a heart that is probably breaking right alongside theirs.

I have been there. More than once.

My sister lost her daughter, my niece Madison Joy, at thirty-five days old. Three years later I delivered my own stillborn daughter, Lucy Grace — gift of light. I have sat on the couch with grieving children and searched for the words. I have watched my nephew’s small face as he tried to make sense of something no child should have to make sense of.

And I have learned — slowly, imperfectly — that there are words that help and words that confuse. There is a way to tell the truth that a child can hold. And there is a way through this conversation that does not require you to have all the answers.

This post is what I wish someone had handed me.

Start Here: The Most Important Thing

Before we get to the specific words — here is the foundation everything else rests on.

Your child does not need a perfect answer. They need a present parent.

What matters most in this conversation is not that you say exactly the right thing. It is that your child feels heard, that you tell the truth, and that you stay in the conversation with them — even when it is hard, even when you are crying, even when you do not know what comes next.

Children can handle a lot of truth when it is offered with love and honesty. What they cannot handle well is confusion, silence, or the sense that death is too scary for the grownups to talk about.

So stay in the conversation. That is the most important thing you can do.

I shared the verses that held me when nothing else could. If you’re a parent guiding a children through grief, spend some time sitting with these verses.

Use the Real Words

This is where most parents start — reaching for softer language to protect their child from the sharpness of the word died.

They went to sleep. We lost them. They passed away. They are gone.

These phrases feel gentler. But for young children — who think in very concrete, literal terms — they create confusion that can turn into fear.

A child told someone went to sleep may be afraid to go to sleep themselves. A child told you lost someone may wonder why you have not gone to look for them. A child told someone passed away may not understand that this is permanent.

Use the words died and death. Gently. Honestly. With love in your voice and your hand in theirs.

These are not cruel words. They are true words. And truth, offered with gentleness, is one of the most merciful things you can give a grieving child.

The Questions They Ask — and What to Say

Here are the questions children most commonly ask when someone they love has died — along with honest, age-appropriate responses. These are starting points, not scripts. Find the language that sounds like you.

“Is he/she sleeping?”

“No, they are not sleeping. When someone dies, their body stops working completely — and it will not wake up again. It may look a little like sleeping on the outside, but it is very different. Heaven is where they are now — and that is a real place, full of light and love and Jesus.”

“Where did they go?”

“Heaven is a real place — full of light and joy and Jesus. And the Bible tells us that anyone who believes in Jesus gets to be with Him in heaven when they die. They are safe there. They are not hurting or scared. They are loved.”

“Will I die too?”

This is one of the hardest questions — because it comes from a real and reasonable fear. Answer it honestly without creating more fear.

“Everyone dies someday. But I plan to be here for a very, very long time. And whatever happens — you will always be loved. You will never be alone. God promised that, and He has never broken a promise yet.”

“Will you die too?”

“I plan to be here for a very, very long time. And if that ever changes — you will be loved and cared for. You will never be alone. God goes with you everywhere — even the places I cannot.”

“Why do I still feel sad? It has been a long time.”

“Because you loved them. And missing someone is just love with nowhere to go right now. Feeling sad does not mean something is wrong with you. It means your heart is working exactly the way it was made to. It is okay to still be sad. I am still sad sometimes too.”

“Can they see me?”

This one requires honesty about what we do and do not know for certain.

“We do not know everything about heaven. But we know that God sees you — always — and that the people who loved you never stop loving you. People who are loved like that are never really forgotten.”

What Not to Say

These phrases are common and well-intentioned. They come from love. But for young children they can create confusion, fear, or a distorted understanding of both death and God. I wrote more about what not to say here.

“They are in a better place.” This is true — but on its own it can feel like it is asking your child to skip the part where they are allowed to be devastated. Pair it with permission: “They are safe with Jesus — and it is completely okay to miss them.” That small addition makes all the difference.

“God needed another angel.” This is not theologically accurate — people do not become angels when they die. And for a grieving child it can quietly plant a seed of anger toward God. He took them because He needed them. That is a hard thing to sit with when your child needed them too. Keep the focus on truth: they are with Jesus, known and loved and held.

“Be strong.” “Don’t cry.” “You need to be brave.” However lovingly intended — these phrases teach children to suppress grief rather than process it. Instead try: “It is okay to cry. I am crying too. We loved them so much.” Letting your child see your tears may be one of the most important things you do. It shows them that grief is not something to be ashamed of. It is love doing its work.

“Everything happens for a reason.” For a grieving child — or a grieving adult — this phrase raises more questions than it answers. Better to sit in the mystery honestly: “I do not know why this happened. But I know God loves us, and He has them.”

“They went to sleep.” / “We lost them.” / “They passed away.” As discussed above — reach for honest, concrete language instead. Died and death are not cruel words. They are true ones.

Grief Is Not One Conversation

Here is something nobody warns you about: this conversation does not end.

A child who seemed to understand at three will ask new questions at five. A child who was quiet about it at six may bring it up with fresh grief at nine. An anniversary, a birthday, a holiday, an ordinary Tuesday — the grief will come back in new forms at different ages as your child grows and their understanding deepens.

This is not regression. This is healthy. It is the way children process — slowly, in layers, over time.

Every time the question comes back — it is an invitation. An opportunity to say the name again. To remind them that the people we love are never forgotten. To go a little deeper than you could the last time.

Keep the door open. Stay in the conversation. Let them bring it back as many times as they need to.

Because grief is not one conversation.

It is love — doing what love does.

A Resource for the Conversation

If you are looking for a place to start — a resource to hold during one of the hardest conversations you will ever have — I wrote a children’s book for exactly this moment.

Mommy, Is Madison Sleeping? is a faith-based picture book for families navigating the death of a loved one with young children. It follows a little boy named Owen as his mother walks him honestly and gently through the questions children actually ask — validating his grief, answering with truth, and anchoring every hard thing in Biblical hope.

It is for any loss — a grandparent, a sibling, a parent, a friend. And it includes a full parent guide in the back matter with suggested responses to common questions, what language to avoid, and how to navigate grief that comes back over time.

The book is on its journey toward publication. Subscribe below to be the first to know when it is available.

If you are in a season of waiting or grief right now – or walking alongside a child who is – the Old to New Creations Journals and the free Prayer List were designed for exactly this.

Because grief is not something to overcome. It is love that has not stopped.

And God is not finished with your story. Or your child’s.

The Verses That Held Me When Nothing Else Could

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I did not go looking for most of these verses.

They found me.

In hospital rooms. In the middle of the night. In the quiet after everyone went home and the house felt too loud with silence. In the moments when I did not have words of my own — these words were already there, waiting.

My sister lost her daughter, my niece, Madison Joy, at thirty-five days old. Three years later I delivered my own stillborn daughter, Lucy Grace — gift of light. I have sat in the kind of grief that has a death certificate and a name and a space in your heart that nothing else will ever fill.

And I have held onto these verses like a lifeline.

I am not sharing them as a list of things to say to someone who is grieving. I am sharing them as what they actually are — the words that kept me tethered to God when I could not feel Him, could not find Him, and was not entirely sure I trusted Him.

Maybe they will do the same for you.

Grief is Not Selective

It does not only come for the parents who buried a child. It comes for the family that packed up everything they knew and moved somewhere new — and grieved the community that used to answer the phone. It comes for the season of waiting when the future would not come clear no matter how hard you prayed for direction. It comes for the parent sitting up at night with a broken heart over a child walking a road you never imagined for them. It comes for the relationship that needed to end or change — and the loss of what it used to be. It comes for the job that disappeared. For the dream that did not survive the year you thought it would.

I have sat in some of these myself. Not all of them came with a name. But they all cost something. And the verses I am about to share — they were not only written for the ones holding a death certificate.

They were written for anyone whose heart is broken.

That includes you.

When You Need Permission to Grieve

“Jesus wept.” — John 11:35

The shortest verse in the Bible. The most important one I know for anyone sitting in grief.

Jesus did not arrive at the tomb of Lazarus with an explanation or a silver lining. He did not say everything happens for a reason. He stood at the grave of someone He loved — knowing full well He was about to raise him from the dead — and He wept.

If Jesus wept, your tears are never something to be ashamed of. Your grief is not a lack of faith. It is love. It is human. And it is something God Himself has felt.

When You Need to Know God Sees You

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

This verse appears twice in my children’s book Mommy, Is Madison Sleeping? — once in the story and once at the very end, in the back matter for parents. I did not plan it that way. It just kept coming back because it kept being true.

God is not distant in grief. He is not watching from a safe distance while you fall apart. He is closest of all in the broken places. That is not a platitude — it is a promise. And He has never broken one yet.

When You Need to Know Where They Are

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?” — John 14:1-3

Heaven is not a metaphor. It is not a comfort we invented to make death easier to bear. It is a real place — prepared by Jesus Himself — where those who belong to Him will one day be together.

Madison Joy is there. Lucy Grace is there. And Jesus said so.

When You Need Resurrection Hope

“Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die.'” — John 11:25-26

This is the anchor of everything. Not just a promise about heaven — a promise about Jesus Himself. He is the resurrection. He did not just teach about life after death. He walked out of a tomb and proved it.

That changes everything about grief. Not because it takes the pain away — it does not. But because it means death does not have the final word. Jesus does.

When You Need to Know the Love Does Not Stop

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” — Romans 8:38-39

Nothing. Not even death.

I have read this verse hundreds of times. And still — every time — something in me exhales. The love does not stop at the grave. It does not stop at the diagnosis. It does not stop at the divorce or the prodigal or the dream that died or the season that will not end.

Nothing in all of creation can separate you from His love. Not even this.

When you need peace that does not make sense

“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 4:7

I used to think this verse meant God would eventually make things make sense. That the peace would come when I understood.

I was wrong.

The peace that passes understanding is not the peace of having answers. It is the peace of being held by someone who has all the answers — and trusting that is enough. It comes in the dark. In the not-knowing. In the middle of something that will never fully make sense this side of heaven.

It guards your heart. Even when your heart is broken.

When you need to know God is not finished

“Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 1:6

He started something in you. Even this — even the grief, the loss, the broken middle of your story — is not the end of what He is doing. He does not abandon what He begins.

This is the verse behind the name. Old to New Creations. 2 Corinthians 5:17 (“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”). The belief that God is constantly at work making something new — even when the old thing breaking apart is something you loved.

He is not finished.

Not with your story. Not with your grief. Not with you.

When you need to know He will not leave

“The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” — Deuteronomy 31:8

He goes before you. Into the hard thing you are walking toward — the anniversary, the due date that came and went, the holiday that will never feel the same — He is already there. Already present. Already holding what you are about to face.

You are not walking into it alone.

Whatever brought you to this post today — whatever grief you are carrying that came with a name or did not — these promises are yours.

A Note for Parents

If you are navigating grief with young children — trying to find the words, trying to answer the questions you never thought you would have to answer — I wrote a children’s book for exactly that moment.

Mommy, Is Madison Sleeping? is a faith-based picture book for families navigating the death of a loved one with young children. These verses — and the hope they carry — are woven throughout every page. (Currently, I’m in the midst of a long process to find a literary agent and publisher).

If you are in a season of waiting or grief right now, the Old to New Journals were designed for exactly this.

Because grief is not something to overcome. It is love that has not stopped.

And God is not finished with your story.

If these verses have held you — share this post with someone who needs them today.

What Not to Say to Someone Who is Grieving (And What Actually Helps)

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Someone you love is hurting.

Maybe they lost a child. Maybe they lost a spouse, a parent, a sibling – someone who was woven so deeply into the fabric of their everyday life that they do not know yet who they are without them.

Or maybe the loss does not have a funeral. Maybe it is a marriage that fell apart. A prodigal child who walked away. A diagnosis that changed everything. A dream that quietly died while nobody was watching. A friendship that ended without explanation. A career that collapsed. A pregnancy that never made it.

Some grief has a funeral. Some grief has a Tuesday.

It comes when everyone else has moved on and you are still standing in the rubble of something that used to be your life. It comes for things that do not have sympathy cards – and those are sometimes the loneliest griefs of all because nobody names them, nobody shows up, and nobody knows what to say. Sometimes we stuff our grief deep inside of us, because we don’t feel safe sharing it with anyone else.

I have been on both sides of this. I lost my niece, Madison Joy, at thirty-give days old. I lost my daughter, Lucy Grace, to stillbirth. My family has also walked through grief connected death, to lost jobs, and to the kind of mistakes that change everything. And I have had the honor to walking alongside others through their own.

And I have also sat in the quieter kinds – the ones that nobody sees coming, the ones that do not come with instructions.

So I want to give you something useful today. Not a script. Not a formula. Just the honest truth about what helps and what does not – from someone who has lived more than one kind of loss.

The grief nobody names

Before we get to the phrases, I want to pause and say something that does not get said enough.

Not all grief is grief over death.

Some of the deepest grief I have ever witnessed — in my own life and in the lives of women around me — has been over things that are still technically alive. A child who is estranged. A marriage that is ending. A friendship that betrayed you. A season of infertility. A vision for your life that is not going to happen the way you planned.

These losses are real. The grief is real. And yet so often the people carrying them feel they have no right to grieve — because nobody died, because things could be worse, because at least you still have your health or your job or your faith or your kids.

Can I say this clearly? You have the right to grieve anything you have lost.

Grief is not a competition. It does not require a death certificate to be legitimate. It is simply the cost of having loved something — a person, a dream, a version of your life — and finding it gone.

If that is where you are today, this post is for you too.

What not to say – and why it lands the way it does

“They went to sleep.” “They passed away.” “We lost them.”

These phrases feel softer. Gentler. Like they protect the grieving person from the sharpness of the word died.

But euphemisms create distance from the truth — and grieving people are already living the truth. They do not need it softened. They need it named.

For children especially, these phrases cause real confusion. A child told someone went to sleep may be afraid to go to sleep themselves. A child told you lost someone may wonder why you have not gone to look for them.

Use the words died and death. Gently. Honestly. They are not cruel words. They are true words. And truth held with love is the most merciful thing you can offer.

“They are in a better place.”

This one is true. I believe it completely. Madison Joy is with Jesus. Lucy Grace is with Jesus.

But on its own, without anything else, this phrase can feel like it is asking the grieving person to skip straight to the good ending. Like the hope cancels out the devastation.

It does not.

If you want to use this phrase, pair it with permission: “They are safe with Jesus — and it is completely okay to miss them.” That small addition changes everything. It holds the hope and the grief at the same time — and that is exactly where most grieving people actually live.

“God needed another angel.”

This comes from a tender place. The people who said it to me meant it with love.

But it is not theologically accurate. People do not become angels when they die. And for a grieving person — or a grieving child — this phrase can quietly plant a seed of anger toward God. He took them because He needed them. That is a hard thing to sit with when you needed them too.

Keep the focus on the truth instead: they are with Jesus, known and loved and held. That is enough — and it is the right kind of enough.

“Be strong.” “Don’t cry.” “You need to be brave.”

We say these things because we want the people we love to be okay. And sometimes we say them because we do not know how to sit with someone in the not-okay.

But grief needs room. It needs to be felt, not managed. Telling someone to be strong — even with the most loving intent — teaches them that their sadness is something to push through rather than something to move through.

What helps instead: “It is okay to cry. I am here. You do not have to hold it together right now.”

That is it. Permission and presence. It is the whole thing.

“Everything happens for a reason.”

This one was said to me more than once after losing Lucy Grace. And every time I heard it, something in me went quiet and closed.

I do not believe that God authored my daughter’s death as a plot point in a plan. I believe He is sovereign over a broken world and that He can redeem anything — including the worst things. Those are not the same.

For a grieving person, this phrase raises more questions than it answers. What is the reason? Could I have prevented it? Did God choose this?

Better to sit in the mystery honestly: “I don’t know why this happened. But I know God loves you. And I am not going anywhere.”

“At least…”

At least you have other children. At least you had time together. At least you know what happened. At least it was not worse.

Every version of this phrase does the same thing — it asks the grieving person to measure their loss against something else and find it smaller. To be grateful rather than devastated.

Grief does not work that way. A grieving person is not comforted by the knowledge that things could be worse. They are standing in the ruins of what is. Meet them there.

“I know exactly how you feel.”

You probably do not. Even if you have experienced a similar loss — even if you have walked through something that looks identical from the outside — grief is deeply personal. The relationship, the circumstances, the history, the faith journey — all of it shapes the experience in ways no one else can fully know.

What you can say instead: “I don’t know exactly what this feels like for you. But I want to. Tell me about them.”

That question — tell me about them — is one of the most generous things you can offer a grieving person. It says: the person you lost mattered. I want to know who they were. Their name is not a wound I am afraid to touch.

The grief nobody shows up for

Here is what I want to say to the person sitting in the quieter kind of loss.

The marriage that is ending. The child who walked away. The dream that died slowly over years. The friendship that fell apart without warning. The diagnosis that changed the whole plan. The season of waiting that never resolved the way you prayed.

Nobody brings casseroles for these. Nobody says I am so sorry for your loss. The world keeps moving and you are standing still. You’re not even sure you are allowed to call this grief. You are.

Some of these I have lived myself. Others I know from standing beside someone I love while they carried something I could not carry for them.

The absence of a funeral does not make the loss less real. The absence of a death certificate does not mean your heart is not broken. And the absence of sympathy cards does not mean you are not allowed to need someone to sit with you in it.

If you are in that kind of grief today — the kind that does not have a name or a ritual or a casserole — I want you to know that you are seen here. This space is for you too.

We do not suffer well.

Not most of us. Not naturally.

When grief arrives — in whatever form it takes — our first instinct is to understand it. To explain it. To find the reason, the lesson, the silver lining. To fix it for the people we love or to fix it in ourselves. To get to the other side of it as quickly as possible so we can go back to being okay.

And so we say everything happens for a reason because we cannot bear to sit in the mystery. We say be strong because we do not know how to be present with pain. We say at least because we are trying to build a ladder out of the hole before the person has even had a chance to look around and understand where they are.

We are not bad people for doing this. We are people who were never taught how to suffer.

But there is another way.

What if grief — all of it, every kind — was not a problem to be solved but an invitation to trust? Not to understand why. Not to find the reason. Not to get to the other side. But to go through it with your hand in the hand of a God who has been to the other side of death and come back.

That is what the peace that passes understanding actually is. It is not the absence of pain. It is not the explanation you were looking for. It is the presence of God in the middle of something that does not make sense — and the slow, quiet discovery that He is enough. That He was always enough. That even this — even the worst thing — cannot separate you from His love.

That is not something you arrive at quickly. It is not something anyone can hand you in a phrase at a funeral.

It is something you find on your knees. In the dark. When the casseroles have stopped coming and the world has moved on and you are still in the middle of it.

And it is there — I promise you it is there — that God does His deepest work.

Not in spite of the grief. Through it.

So what do you actually say?

You say less than you think you need to.

You show up. You bring food. You sit on the couch and you do not try to fix it. You say their name — or the name of what was lost — out loud, because the thing grieving people fear most is not that someone will bring it up. It is that everyone will forget.

Say I am so sorry. Say I loved them too. Say tell me about them. Say I am here and I am not going anywhere. Say their name.

And then stay.

That is what our pastor and his wife did for us after we lost Lucy Grace. They showed up at our door one evening with ice cream. They stayed ten minutes. They did not explain it or fix it or find the silver lining. They just showed up.

It was everything.

A note for parents talking to grieving children

If you are a parent walking a child through any kind of loss — the death of someone they loved, a family change, something that shifted their world — the same principles apply.

Children need honest, concrete language. They need permission to feel what they feel. They need to know that the missing is not something wrong with them. They need you to say the name — of the person, of the loss, of whatever it is that is gone.

If you are looking for a resource to help you have those conversations about death specifically, I wrote a children’s book for exactly that moment. Mommy, Is Madison Sleeping? is a faith-based picture book for families navigating the death of a loved one with young children. It is for any loss — a grandparent, a sibling, a parent, a friend.

Because grief is not something to overcome. It is a love that has not stopped.

And God is not finished with your story.

If this post helped you, share it with someone who is walking alongside a friend in grief. Sometimes the most loving thing we can do it learn how to show up well.

If you are in a season of waiting or grief right now, the Old to New Journals were designed for exactly this.

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