What It Means to Be a Pareavor
When we lose a child, no matter what their age, our entire world changes. We are plunged into a kind of grief and devastation that does not resemble anything we knew before. One of the greatest struggles in our identity after child loss is simply this: Who am I now?
We know what a widow is. We know what an orphan is. But there has not been a word for a parent whose child has died, which seems to leave a painful void for those of us who walk this journey.
But that has changed, and that word is pareavor. And while it describes a heartbreaking part of our story, it also reminds us that we are not alone. There are many others we are bonded with, who share this same unwanted journey.
The Meaning Behind the Word Pareavor
The word pareavor comes from the root word of bereave, which is “reave,” meaning:
- to be deprived of something
- to have it violently taken away
- to be robbed or torn away
That is exactly what child loss feels like.
When you place the syllable pa (from the word parent) in front of that root and add the suffix or, which means “one who is,” you get this definition:
A pareavor is a parent who has been deprived of their child; one whose child has been torn away by death.
Why does that matter for our identity after child loss?
Because the word pareavor acknowledges:
- My child existed.
- My child is loved.
- My child still matters.
- And I do not walk alone.
Names have power. They connect us. They validate our grief. They bring us together when the world doesn’t understand.
Pareavor Is Part of Our Identity but Not All of It
Here is something we need to understand and hold onto:
Being a pareavor speaks to the experience of child loss.
But it does not tell the whole story of our identity.
This is where faith speaks into identity after child loss in a way that nothing else can. Because when tragedy strikes, pain tries to rename us:
- Hopeless
- Broken
- Forgotten
- Unloved
- Damaged
- Alone
But God gives us a different identity.
John 1:12 tells us, “To all who received Him, who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God”.
Your identity is not based on what was taken from you, but on the One who has claimed you as His. That is the foundation of our identity after child loss.
Why Identity Matters for Bereaved Parents
This is one reason Christmas strikes a deep chord in the heart of a pareavor. God did not send Jesus into the world simply to comfort us. He sent Him into a world of pain, loss and death. His birth, death, and resurrection declare two truths that redefine identity after child loss:
- Death is not the end of the story.
Our children are alive, whole and safe with God. (Please click here if this is something you struggle with.) - Our lives still have purpose.
We were not meant to merely survive after loss, but to walk forward in God’s strength.
Jesus didn’t just save us for heaven. He walks with us today, in every breath of sorrow and every step of healing.
Holding These Two Identities Together
This journey brings us to a holy tension:
I am a pareavor. That is part of my story.
But I am also God’s child. That is my eternal identity.
This is where identity after child loss becomes powerful. It allows us to say that I miss my child so deeply that words fail. But I am loved by God so deeply that death cannot break that love.
Your child is not just your past. Your child is still part of your future. And God is walking with you there.
We Are Pareavors, But We Are More Than Our Pain
We can live holding both truths:
- We are pareavors who carry grief, love and memories more intensely than the world understands.
- We are also God’s beloved children, and nothing—not death, not suffering, not fear—can change that.
One identity speaks to our earthly story.
The other speaks to our eternal story.
Our identity after child loss is grounded in both grief and hope. In both tears and truth. In both the wilderness we walk through now and the promise of being reunited with our children one day in God’s presence.
A Final Encouragement
If you are wondering who you are now that your child is gone, hear this:
You are a pareavor, yes.
But even more, you are God’s beloved child.
Your grief does not erase your identity.
Your pain does not disqualify you from hope.
God walks with you. Your child waits for you.
And love, not loss, has the final word.
NOTE: This was partially taken from the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast episode 325. Click here to listen to the full discussion, or look for the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast on your favorite listening app.
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Find out more and get your copy of Hope for the Future: An Advent Journey for Bereaved Parents here.
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AWARD WINNING AUTHOR, LAURA DIEHL, has written several impactful books that provide comfort and guidance to those navigating the painful journey of child loss, after the death of her own daughter in 2011. Her most acclaimed work, When Tragedy Strikes: Rebuilding Your Life with Hope and Healing After the Death of Your Child, has received multiple accolades, including the 2017 Gold Medal Centauri Christian Book Award for Non-Fiction and a Silver Medal in the 2018 Illumination Awards. Several of her other books have won awards as well.
In addition to her writing, Laura is an ordained minister and has an extensive background in international children’s ministry. She is a sought-after speaker and singer at grief conferences and churches, known for her compassionate approach and deep understanding of the grieving process, especially the unique loss of a child. Through her weekly award-winning podcast, her writings, and other resources provided by GPS Hope, Laura and her husband, Dave, continue to provide hope and healing to thousands of parents worldwide, helping them find light in the midst of profound loss and darkness.
For more information about Laura’s award-winning books go to gpshope.org/books.
To find out more about Laura Diehl and the ministry of Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope) visit gpshope.org.
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Tracy’s daughter, Krysta, entered the world early and fighting for her life. Born with a severely underdeveloped intestinal tract, she went through six major surgeries in the first three months of her life. Doctors worked tirelessly, using every medical option available at the time, including total parenteral nutrition and multiple procedures to give her a chance at survival. 
Even though Krysta died in the mid-1990s, Tracy’s grief was still close enough to bring tears as he shared. He emphasized something so many of us experience in life after losing a child: grief does not disappear. It changes, it softens, but it never fully leaves. 
Anger, Tracy said, was one of the defining emotions of his early grief. Anger at the hospital. Anger at the circumstances. Anger even at God. And that anger reached a peak after a pastor told him Krysta would not go to heaven; a statement that wounded him deeply. 
After Krysta died, Tracy feared he might slip back into his old addictions. Instead, he made a conscious choice that he would honor his daughter by living differently. He threw himself into personal development, eventually becoming a coach and mentor. He discovered that helping others became a bridge back to his own healing. 
Do the tears ever stop? No.
Carol began by sharing the stories of her precious boys.
One of the hardest parts of suicide loss is the crushing guilt.
One thing Carol said is something I have also learned throughout the years. 
Losing one child is unthinkable. Losing two is unbearable. Losing three? Most of us can’t fathom it.
There is still so much stigma and misunderstanding around suicide and mental illness, especially in church settings. Carol has heard comments blaming parents for their child’s death. She has met people who think mental illness is simply a lack of faith. Those statements are not biblical. They are not true. And they heap more pain onto hearts that are already broken.
Carol now leads Zoom groups for moms navigating suicide loss, overdose, and mental illness. She has stepped into a calling that she never wanted—but one she now embraces with tenderness and courage.
The pain of losing a child doesn’t go away, even as we keep moving forward in life. Some days, it feels like a quiet heaviness that we carry. Other times, it knocks us flat and takes our breath away. Eventually, the pain becomes a deep undercurrent of who we are. It’s always there, even when others can’t see it. 
Our daughter, Becca, had the gift of hospitality. She loved cooking, preparing, and making everyone feel special. That was how she showed love. 
Gratitude doesn’t look the same as it once did for us. But eventually, as we learn to navigate the holidays after child loss, it can be even more meaningful. It might look like:
It’s not just Thanksgiving that hurts. The entire holiday season can be overwhelming and filled with questions, “whys,” and the painful reminder that our child isn’t here for the lights, the laughter, or the joy. 
No matter what the holiday is, our hearts ache more deeply when our child’s chair is empty. If that’s how you feel this season, please know you’re not alone. Give yourself permission to do the holidays differently this year. You don’t have to pretend to be okay, and you don’t have to force joy that isn’t there. 
When our child leaves this earth before we do, it can feel like everything inside of us has died too. The darkness can be so intense that even breathing feels like work. But over time, God gently begins to plant a seed of hope deep in our hearts. It’s fragile at first, easily drowned by tears or choked by pain. But as we stay connected with Him and with those who understand, that little seed begins to grow.
For a while, it was just me and God, and honestly, that was a good thing for me personally in that beginning season. But eventually, I knew that I needed to be around others who had experienced child loss.
There are so many emotions in grief: numbness, regret, anger, fear, confusion… all valid. But if you notice, these are all negative. So how do we move the needle toward the other direction, especially when we don’t know if we even want to?
There is a seed of hope already inside you. It may feel dormant, but it’s there. It just needs time (with lots of nourishing) to break through the hard ground of grief.
Satan wants you to think that you don’t need God. “If God really is who He says He is, why didn’t He stop my child from dying?” “If God is good, why did He let this happen?” The enemy will try to convince you that you will do better staying mad at God or pushing Him out of your life.
Are you living from your soul or from your spirit? Living from our soul means we are living based on how we feel and what we think about the death of our child. Living from our spirit means we are choosing to live from a higher realm; from a place fully redeemed and the one our children are now living in. 
