A Gift for Mom! 🤍

There’s No “At Least” In Grief

4 Minute Read

By Dana Romano

At least you have your two other sons.
At least he didn’t suffer for long.
At least you have a strong marriage.
At least you have a good support system.

While all of these things are in fact true, it is in no way—ever—a helpful thing to say to someone who has lost a child. What it does is actually minimize the loss at hand and can make the bereaved parent feel as if they should feel guilty about grieving their child, and instead (I guess?) prompt them to feel better based on what they do have.

Oh, how we wished it worked that way.

How I wished those two words would be an easy fix and make me feel more at peace with my son’s death. How I wish we could just put a pretty bow on top of the aching pile of grief that fills my days and pulls at my heart as if to say, Here, this will make it better.

But it doesn’t. It won’t.

Ever.

When those two words are uttered to me, I can feel myself burning on the inside.

But I know, for the most part, it’s stemming from a good place. So, I just let it roll off their tongue and nod my head in hopes the conversation is coming to an end.

I get it. People start grasping for straws, so they try to think of something to say in hopes that maybe it can help pick up the pieces off the floor. I get it. Most people you encounter have not gone through the raw, emotional, gut-wrenching type of loss that is most feared by society. I can see they are just as lost as I am, trying to scramble in finding the right words to say while I stare on helplessly. I get how we live in a world where people want to slap a Band-Aid on a problem or tragedy and move on.

It’s like an A for effort sort of thing, but unfortunately an F for making us feel better.

My advice?

Go into it knowing it is not possible for you to say things that will make us not feel the way we do. We don’t expect you to. Can never expect you to.

Just be present. Sit with us. Let us talk. Let us cry.

Be honest and tell us there’s nothing you can say to even remotely make it better. Sometimes a hug is worth more than a million words that can ever be said.

I know I’d appreciate that so much more.

Because the reality is, grief makes people uncomfortable.

Like, really uncomfortable. Especially if it’s a loss of a child.

And it’s because it’s every parent’s worst nightmare.

But it’s my reality; and no one is more uncomfortable than the person who lives it.

It’s in people’s nature to see someone who is sad and want to say something to fix them. But this can’t be fixed, we can’t be fixed, nor would we want to.

I will forever live with a piece of my heart missing.

I will forever learn how to be a mommy to my children on earth while also honoring my son in heaven. I will forever wonder who my son would be with every moment that passes by. I will forever cry tears of joy for the milestones my living sons will reach and tears of sadness for the ones my baby boy will miss.

You see, grieving parents are well aware of all they have in their life but it does not justify what is missing. Because what is missing is my third child, my third son.

And there’s no at least in that.

Originally published on the author’s blog

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

at least Grief grieving

Dana Romano

Dana Romano is an elementary school teacher from CT who lives with her husband Dan of nine years and two living sons, Angelo who is six and Matteo who is four. After losing her third son, Julian, to fetal hydrops in August of 2019, it has pushed her to write and blog about her experience in hopes to shed light on this forever world grief and let others know how they can help along the way. To read more about Julian's story, feel free to subscribe to her blog https://danaromano722.wixsite.com/thelittlestbrother or follow her on Instagram @thelittlestbrother803 for updates.

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

In: Grief

In his last years, Dad spent his days in a chair by the big picture window. From there, he could survey all the comings and goings of the ranch. He watched the weather, the dogs, and our Arabian stallion, Axum, galloping through the pines and calling to the mares across the hill. Occasionally, Dad would alert us that a certain dog had escaped or that a storm was coming in. He was looking out. He was keeping track. He needed help to move even a few steps. At night, my husband or I cleaned him, dressed him, and tucked him into...

Keep Reading

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

In: Grief

Young woman holding red umbrella walking next to canola field

Outside, the sky hung in a thick, dim slab, like a ceiling over the trees that stood crooked in the wind. Not the fresh spring breeze we’re used to in Florida, but the damp, cold kind that makes you pull your coat together with tight fists. I got there right on time, parked in a front spot in the almost-bare lot, and slid my violet boots with fluffy pom-poms onto the asphalt. I braced for the impact of the frigid air and tucked my body inward as I did a little hop-jog into the pub. Once inside, I let out...

Keep Reading

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

In: Grief, Loss

I lay in bed this morning, sweet boy. It is Saturday. Seven of them since you left. Half awake, I turned over and saw Grief staring right at me. She pounced then stood, haughty, on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. She yelled that she would be close today. If she feels like it, she might even be relentless. She is cruel. You were the reason, sweet boy, for me to get out of bed on a Saturday morning. Actually, every morning you were my purpose from the moment I opened my eyes until the moment they shut. I knew on...

Keep Reading

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

In: Grief

They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. I found that to be most true when my grandma passed. Like many grandmas, she was the best. She was kind and tender, but firm when she needed to be. She gave her time freely and used her baking talent to bless others. She had little and needed little, yet she had a way of drawing people together. There wasn’t a day I can remember when someone didn’t call her or stop by. She seemed to have all the answers and somehow knew how to fix almost any problem....

Keep Reading

My Parents Will Never See This Face

In: Grief

Woman with sunglasses shown in rear view mirror

You’ve had that moment, right? That moment when you don’t recognize the woman standing in front of you. Her hair is grayer. The skin around her eyes is a bit darker. Even without noticing the small details, that face is different. It’s aged. And as I stared at her yesterday afternoon, all dolled up and nowhere to go, it dawned on me: My parents will never see this version of me. My mom will never get to see hands that look like hers. She’ll never recognize the wrinkles or the sun spots. My father-in-law joked about gray hair with my...

Keep Reading

The Due Date that Never Comes

In: Grief, Loss, Miscarriage

It is not often talked about. I completely understand why, but when going through something so heartbreaking and devastating, women shouldn’t have to suffer alone or in silence. If you’ve gone through it, you probably already know what I’m referring to – miscarriage. It is the reason many couples don’t tell people they are expecting until after the first trimester. It is so unfortunately common that one in four women will experience a miscarriage in their lifetime. According to the National Institutes of Health, 15-20 percent of pregnancies will end in miscarriage, and it is the most common pregnancy complication...

Keep Reading

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

In: Grief, Living

Black and white photo of older man in garden

I was never meant to be a plant person. I’m the woman who can kill a succulent on the way home from the store. Once, a fern sighed in my direction and gave up. That is my spiritual gift. My grandpa Dominic would have laughed—hard. He loved to laugh. And sing hymns passionately in Italian. He was an Italian immigrant who lost his arm working in a mill, and still, he woke up every morning and dressed like dignity itself. He shopped for my grandma. He fixed what was broken. And he tended the biggest, happiest garden you’ve ever seen....

Keep Reading

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

In: Grief

Woman with mother smiling in older photo

Recently, whenever I look in the mirror, I see a strong resemblance to my mother. People always said I looked like her, but I never really saw it until now. I think it may be because you always think of your parents as being older than you are. At the age of 61, I am now only two years away from the age my mother was when she died. The only good thing about dying young is that everyone will remember you that way. I have only known my mom as the vibrant, personable, and active woman she was. Well,...

Keep Reading

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood

Editor’s note: This post discusses child loss Child loss changes Mother’s Day. My 19-month-old, Julia, died suddenly on Mother’s Day in 2024. Three months later, her autopsy revealed she had B-cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (B-ALL, also known as SUDNIC). Julia died a week after we did an embryo transfer at an IVF clinic in an attempt to have a second child. We found out three days after Julia’s death that the embryo did not make it either. Six months later, we did another embryo transfer that succeeded, and I now have an 8-month-old daughter, Lucy Mei (“Mei Mei” means “little...

Keep Reading

I Miss Having Parents

In: Grief

Grown daughter posing between smiling parents

I have been living with the ache of loss for so long that I truly don’t remember what it feels like not to carry it. Sometimes it rests quietly beneath my ribs, dormant and almost polite. Other times it rises without warning—on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of a coffee line—and cuts straight through me. Today, it was a song. I was waiting for my coffee when “Pictures of You” by The Cure drifted through the café speakers. I hadn’t heard it in 20 years. In my twenties, it meant heartbreak—young love unraveling, relationships ending before they were...

Keep Reading

Stop Trying To Be Super Mom

Motherhood

Stop Trying To Be Super Mom

I Never Knew I'd Love Having Big Kids As Much As I Do

Grown Children

There’s No “At Least” In Grief

When those two words are uttered to me, I can feel myself burning on the inside.

Just be present. Sit with us. Let us talk. Let us cry.

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Dana Romano

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

My Parents Will Never See This Face

The Due Date that Never Comes

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

I Miss Having Parents

Get It Now

So God Made a Mother

There’s No “At Least” In Grief

When those two words are uttered to me, I can feel myself burning on the inside.

Just be present. Sit with us. Let us talk. Let us cry.

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

My Parents Will Never See This Face

The Due Date that Never Comes

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

I Miss Having Parents

Previous Post

Next Post

You May Also Like