Gifts for Mom, Grandparents, Besties and YOU🎄 ➔

Life moves on. As well it should.

But for your friend dealing with the grief of a miscarriage, or failed marriage, or loss of a family member, life doesn’t go on as well it should.

For us, the grief is the loss of our home in a California wildfire. The loss of our children’s special toys, our family memories, and special mementos. The loss of everything we owned and the home we planned to make so many memories in. Once the fire was out and the smoke began to clear, life for everyone else moved forward. School started. We had a holiday weekend. Life moved on.

But for those who are living in the cycle of grief, life doesn’t move on quite as easily. We are trying to rebuild our homes, our lives, and our emotions. We are fiercely struggling some days, and just making it through other days. We have good days, we have OK days, and we have painful, dreadful days. We can cycle between sad, angry, depressed, and numb. We watch as life goes on for others, while life can seem so empty and so hard for us.

The grief process can be long and it can be painful. We have constant memories of the precious baby we lost, the parent we dearly miss, or the home we desperately want to return to. We can be jealous that others are moving forward with life while we feel so stuck. We can feel left out or forgotten as the world keeps going forward while our world stands still.

Our grief processes are all unique. Although we all cycle through the same stages of denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, the process for each person is different. We feel some stages with more severity and others for longer. But one thing that is true for so many of us, is that we just need time to process our pain and deal with our loss. We need to cry the painful, breathtaking tears that shake us to our core. We need to scream the angry “why me?” screams. We need to allow ourselves to feel sadness over our loss and what never will be. The child we will never meet on this side of Heaven. The parent who now watches us from above. The marriage that won’t have another anniversary. The home we will never get to experience a family Christmas dinner in.

Although there isn’t light at the end of every tunnel, there is light at the end of many grief processes. Our home will be rebuilt. We will meet our family in heaven again. We will find new relationships and may even have more children. Life will go on. As well it should. But life will never be the same. Life will always have a scar. I will never again have the baby clothes and handprint Christmas ornaments our kids made. Our daughter will never get to play dress up in my wedding dress again or wear my veil in her wedding. I won’t be able to pass down the family heirlooms from my grandma. Our sons will never get to wear my husband’s hockey jersey.

Scars often fade with time and can even become barely visible. It is my choice whether I mourn these scars forever or find beauty in them. My choice is to process through my grief and find a way to make this life amazing in spite of my scars. My choice is to believe that scars create character and resilience. My choice is to feel the emotions that come instead of numbing them away. My choice is to use my scar to be the light to someone else who is suffering through grief. My choice is to find and hold onto hope, wherever it may be. No matter how much my scars fade, they will continue to cause varying degrees of pain throughout my life. But it is my choice to not allow that pain to overrule my life.

Because life will move on. As well it should.

For anyone who knows someone cycling through grief, please remember to check in. Your world may have moved on, and we are happy that it has, but ours hasn’t yet. We may hold our grief longer than others may, but we will return to a new normal with time and healing. We are all in this life together and we always need to support one another.

If you liked this, you'll love our new book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available for pre-order now!

Pre-Order Now

Emily Scott

Emily Scott, PhD, is a stay at home mom of three, and part time parenting consultant and blogger who has written and spoken on various parenting topics including child development, ACEs, and tips on raising responsible kids. 

The Fragile Heart of Grief

In: Grief
Dandelion blowing in the wind

I started planting roses, and for a few years, it was this peaceful respite that I looked forward to each summer. Radiant petals would bloom, rising out of cold, lifeless soil bursting into an explosion of color. In early May, I started the cycle again and for weeks the roses were vibrant and rich with life. My dad died, and I realized I was no better at grief than I had been before. For two days we clung to the tiniest sliver of hope. We showed up, we stood vigil, we prayed, we cried. I watched my mom, my sisters,...

Keep Reading

When Mom Died, We Had Tea

In: Grief, Grown Children, Living
Table set as a tea party with framed picture of a woman, color photo

My mom was never, ever without a cup of Lipton’s tea. Like a dear friend, it held her hand, kept her warm, provided comfort. She boiled water in her navy-speckled kettle, then poured it into a cup and, completely ignoring the recommended four-minute steep instructions, immediately lifted it to her lips. It always mystified me how her mouth didn’t suffer third-degree burns. Mom’s penchant for thriftiness compelled her to use the same tea bag multiple times; only when it disintegrated and leaf particles floated to the surface did she accept defeat and reach for a fresh yellow packet. RELATED: Moments...

Keep Reading

My Mother Raised Me To Go On Without Her

In: Grief, Grown Children
Mother and grown daughter smiling in selfie

“The kids are spending the night at Grandma’s, and I’m eyeballs deep in Fritos while catching up on all my trash TV shows.” “I had to rush my son to urgent care, but thankfully my mom was able to stay with the three other kiddos while I took care of him.”  “I feel so lost when it comes to homeschooling; thankfully, my mom did it too, so she’s been an amazing guide to have.” To most people, these sentences might seem like wonderful, blessed bits of praise from a daughter about her mother, but to me, they’re like daggers straight...

Keep Reading

Dear Loss Mom, Grieve Your Baby In Heaven Without Guilt

In: Baby, Grief, Loss

My third baby was due on October 19, 2019. Instead, she was born into heaven on March 24, 2019. Not only do I grieve her more in October than in other months because of her due date, but I also grieve for so many other parents who have also lost their children.  RELATED: A Letter To My Mama From Your Baby In Heaven Pregnancy loss is such a strange journey to walk through. I’m years into it, and there are still days when the grief hits and the tears come and I can’t breathe. On other days, I am so...

Keep Reading

My Sister and I Return To Childhood To Grieve Our Mother

In: Grief
Two women, sitting on swings, color photo

“Grief is itself a medicine,” William Cowper. Everyone processes grief differently. The day after our mother’s death, my sister and I began our grief journey and took up swinging. Not that kind of swinging, Heaven forbid! No. What we chose instead was the weightless, transformational lightness of being that only a tried and true piece of playground equipment can supply.  That morning my sister and I waited rather anxiously for hospice (blessed hospice!) to pick up that wretched hospital bed. We wanted it gone, banished from our sight forever. When the truck carrying the bed and other supplies disappeared down...

Keep Reading

She Was Just a Dog…and So Much More

In: Grief, Living
Young woman in car with dog, same woman years later with dog, color photo

She was just a dog. One of my least favorite sayings is “it’s just a dog” when people comment on how much we love our pets—be it a dog, cat, lizard, chicken, hamster, etc. They’re not wrong . . . Harley was “just” a dog. One random spring morning I asked my mom if I could get a dog of my own. She was working and sick of the phone calls. She said I just had to ask dad. Well, we already had two dogs, so I didn’t have high hopes. Cue dad. He was just about to lie down to take...

Keep Reading

I Wish I Had the Chance to Be Friends with My Mom

In: Grief, Motherhood
Portrait shot of woman, color photo

Dear Mom, I never got the chance to appreciate you as a mother. There was so much life still to do. And not just the big milestones. I’m talking about the parts when daughters grow into mothers themselves and have the chance to appreciate their moms for everything they did for them. The chance to get to know their own mother as a person instead of just a parent. You left this earth soon after I became I mother myself. And now I sit here and think back on memories of you from when I was growing up. And, oh,...

Keep Reading

The Faith and Fear of Trying for a Rainbow Baby

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Pregnant woman sitting on living room floor

When we decided to start a family we dove in head first. After having been together for five years and married for a year, we were ready. It was September when we decided to give it a go. By mid-December, I took a test. My first positive pregnancy test. I had a life growing inside me! I’ll never forget my husband’s smile when I told him. We embraced and cried together. We couldn’t believe it could be this easy. The next few weeks consisted of a wave of pregnancy symptoms and before I knew it, we were going to the...

Keep Reading

Angel Babies are Heaven’s Gatekeepers

In: Faith, Grief, Loss
Mother and baby silhouette

I never seemed to have the right words. I didn’t have the right words at four years old when my parents lost my 11-month-old brother, and I never seemed to have the right words as I watched family members and close friends lose both the new life growing within their wombs and the beautiful, precious life resting in their weary arms. So, I did what I thought would offer the most comfort. I simply tried to show up and be there the best I could. I shopped for their favorite treats. I dropped meals off on front porches and toys...

Keep Reading

I Should Be Picking You up from School Today

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Woman sad with eyes closed

I would have cried.  I see the line of cars in the school pick-up line, and my heart is hit with grief, love, and wistfulness all at the same time.  You, sweet boy, should be there, waiting for me to pick you up.   I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve gone over it in my mind. Your first day of preschool. I’ve thought about your outfit—little jeans and a hoodie with a ball cap. Would you be into superheroes? What backpack would you want? I would’ve taken you school shopping, picking out all the supplies you’d need. And...

Keep Reading