When Greif and Faith Walked Together

When Grief and Faith Walked Together

It was a summer like no other, though I could not have known that at the time. How could I? Life seemed to be moving along as normally as possible. I was working in education, helping teach students, managing the everyday stresses that come with life, believing that the challenges I faced would eventually pass.

I had no idea I was standing at the edge of one of the darkest seasons of my life.

When I think of my son, I still see his bright smile, remember his protective imagination, and cling to the precious memories only a mother carries deep within her heart. Though grief has changed so much, those memories remain untouched by time.

One of my sweetest memories of my son is how he used to set toy army men in the bushes, pretending they were hidden snipers standing guard. In his imagination, he was right there with them—not to harm, but to protect everyone. Looking back now, that memory says so much about who he was. Beneath that bright smile was a tender heart that wanted the people he loved to feel safe and cared for. Even as a child, there was something deeply protective and gentle about him.

My son had a tenderness about him that made even the smallest memories precious. I remember when he got pimples on his face and truly believed something was wrong. He carefully placed Band-Aids over them, convinced he could help them heal. Looking back now, that memory breaks my heart and makes me smile at the same time. It captures something so pure about who he was—sensitive, innocent, and trying in his own sweet way to fix what felt broken.

Those are the memories I carry with me.

Shortly before school let out, my son became ill and was hospitalized. I received a phone call from a friend telling me he wanted to see me. By the time I arrived, he was already waiting.

I can still picture that moment so clearly.

When I walked into the hospital room, he smiled at me.

I immediately wrapped my arms around him, holding onto hope the way mothers do when they refuse to believe the worst. We had walked this road before. My son lived with a rare medical condition that made high-protein foods dangerous because his body could not process them properly. When his ammonia levels rose, it became serious very quickly, but this was not our first battle.

He had recovered before.

So I believed he would recover again.

That hope began to fade when I saw a meal brought into his room containing foods he should not have been given. I immediately spoke up, explaining his condition and how dangerous that could be. Over the next several days, his ammonia levels would improve, only to rise again.

Doctors used dialysis to help reduce the toxins in his bloodstream. I watched, waited, prayed, and hoped.

But this time was different.

Eventually, the damage became too severe, and I found myself standing in every parent's worst nightmare.

There are some pains that words can never fully convey.

Losing a child is one of them.

No parent expects to bring a child into this world and then stand helplessly as they leave it. It feels unnatural. It feels wrong. It leaves a silence that no words can fill.

My son left behind a family who loved him deeply, his father, his two sisters, and me, his mother. Each of us carried that grief differently, but none of us walked away untouched.

The days that followed felt unreal.

Funeral arrangements had to be made.

Phone calls had to be answered.

His belongings had to be sorted.

Decisions had to be made.

Life, painfully, does not stop simply because your heart has shattered.

I remember coming home feeling completely broken, only to find that the world was still demanding things from me. Problems did not pause for grief. Responsibilities did not soften because I was hurting.

At times, it felt as though sorrow had opened the door and hardship simply kept walking in behind it.

There were moments when I felt overwhelmed.

Moments when I felt exhausted.

Moments when I wondered how much one heart could carry.

And there were moments when I felt terribly alone.

But even in those moments, God remained.

Not always in loud or dramatic ways.

Not always in the form of immediate peace.

Sometimes His presence looked like the strength to get out of bed.

The courage to answer one more phone call.

The grace to take one more step when I felt like collapsing beneath the weight of it all.

Faith did not erase my grief.

Faith walked beside it.

That is something I have come to understand in a way I never wished to learn: trusting God does not mean life will be free from suffering. It means suffering does not have the final word.

Grief became a companion I never asked for.

But so did faith.

And when my own strength failed me, faith became the strength that carried me forward.

A mother never truly stops missing her child.

Even now, there are moments when a memory catches me off guard—a smile, a thought, a quiet moment that brings his presence rushing back into my heart.

But I also carry something else.

The quiet assurance that even in my darkest valley, I was never truly walking alone.

Psalm 34:18 says, "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

I have lived those words.

When grief and faith walked together, God carried me through both!