Navigating the holidays after child loss can be one of the hardest times of the year for a grieving parent. Everywhere we turn, people are celebrating, decorating, and gathering, while we’re just trying to breathe through the ache of our child not being here.
This isn’t about pretending we’re okay. It’s about learning how to hold on to both grief and our faith. It isn’t about forcing ourselves to “look on the bright side.”
It is about learning how gratitude and grief can coexist, not as enemies, but as companions on this painful road that we never asked to walk.
Gratitude Doesn’t Mean You’re Over It
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.
Some people think that if we’re thankful for anything, it means we are over it. But that isn’t true. Gratitude does not invalidate pain. They can live together in the same heart. Jesus Himself modeled this. He wept at the tomb of Lazarus, even though He knew resurrection was coming. Grief and hope coexisted in Him, and they can coexist in us too.
Having gratitude doesn’t mean we’re okay with our child’s death. It simply means we’re choosing to notice that God’s goodness hasn’t left us, even in the darkness.
A Bittersweet Thanksgiving with Becca
Our daughter, Becca, had the gift of hospitality. She loved cooking, preparing, and making everyone feel special. That was how she showed love.
During what we knew could be her last Thanksgiving with us, she was in a wheelchair and connected to a VAD (a mechanical pump that ran the left side of her heart) while she waited for a chance to be on the transplant list. That year, she wanted so badly to host Thanksgiving dinner. I had always done it at our house, but we decided to let her take the lead.
Her husband and I got behind her, helping her do what she could, even carrying her up and down the basement stairs, since that was the only space big enough for everyone to gather. That day was bittersweet. It broke my heart to see how much she wanted to do but couldn’t. Yet it was so precious to see her beaming at the table, surrounded by family.
For a long time after she died, that Thanksgiving was a painful memory. It was the last time we were all together. But God gently changed how I saw it. Now, it’s one of my most treasured memories because we honored her gift of hospitality. We let her love us in the way she still could, and she poured her heart into it.
There was grief on that day, absolutely. But there was also deep gratitude. And both were real. Both were sacred.
Gratitude After Child Loss Looks Different
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:
- Being thankful for one supportive friend who checks in.
- Noticing a sunrise on a hard morning.
- A moment of peace that surprises you.
- A reminder that your child is still part of your story.
Sometimes gratitude is just being thankful that you had the strength to go get a haircut. And that’s enough.
Both/And — Not Either/Or
Our culture tells us we have to pick one:
Either you’re grieving or you’re grateful.
Either you’re hurting or you’re healing.
But the truth is: we can be both.
I can be heartbroken and still hold gratitude.
I can miss my child desperately and still see God’s fingerprints on my day.
I can long for heaven and still find reasons to live here.
I can lean on God while I fall apart.
Gratitude doesn’t erase grief, but it can soften it. And grief doesn’t push gratitude away, but it can deepen it. Because when everything has been shattered, especially as we navigate the holidays after child loss, even the smallest gifts become sacred.
Emmanuel: God With Us in Our Pain
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.
About five years after Becca died, the name Emmanuel, God with us, hit my spirit like an explosion. I cried out, “Lord, I want You to be with me every day of this next month. I need to feel You. I need Your peace in a tangible way.” At that moment, I was reminded of the advent wreath that we used when our kids were growing up, reading a special devotion and lighting a candle each week leading up to Christmas.
So, I decided to do my own advent time with the Lord, focusing each night on Emmanuel, God with us, even within my grief. I began writing reflections for each evening and sharing them live on Facebook with anyone who wanted to join me in navigating the holidays after child loss.
It helped keep me from spiraling into darkness and reminded me that Christmas really isn’t about gifts or parties. It’s about the hope Jesus brought when He was born here on this earth. He came as a baby to bring peace, love, and eternal life. What He did for us assures us that this separation is not forever.
A Gentle Reminder for Navigating the Holidays After Child Loss
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.
Sometimes honoring your child looks like a quiet candlelight moment instead of a big celebration, and that’s okay. Even in the heaviness, may you notice gentle moments of grace: a memory that brings a smile, a word that reminds you of hope, and the peace that comes from knowing God is holding both you and your child close to His heart.
NOTE: This was partially taken from the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast episode 322. 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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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.
The link to Hope for the Future is an affiliate link, allowing part of the purchase price to go to GPS Hope.
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. 
How writing can help heal grief after child loss is something many bereaved parents never consider, at least not at first. When your child dies, you can barely breathe, let alone pick up a pen or open a blank document. But writing can become a lifeline, a safe place for the heart to speak what your voice cannot form into words.
John’s son, Stephen, died at just 22 years old. His death was sudden, heartbreaking, and life-shattering. Like many of us, John and his wife grieved very differently, and it would have been easy to drift apart. Instead, they learned not to judge each other’s grieving style.
Before his son died, John was already a journalist and author. But his writing changed after his loss. He discovered that writing wasn’t just something he 
When you put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard), things you didn’t even know you were holding often come out.
If you feel something stirring in you to write, even if it scares you, pay attention to that whisper. You don’t have to be “a writer” to write. You just have to be willing to show up on the page with honesty.
Even though writing is something you do alone, you are not alone on this journey. If you do start writing, I would love to hear about it in the comments below. If you get a special journal to write in, you can even share a picture of it 
Healing after pregnancy loss is a journey that can feel both lonely and sacred. Too often, this kind of loss isn’t acknowledged for the deep heartbreak it truly is. But whether the pregnancy loss was early or late, whether you held your baby or not, your love was real, and so is your grief. Today, I want to share a story that beautifully captures both the pain and the redemption that can come through 
Shelley shared how she and CJ spent years in ministry, serving as missionaries and then stepping out in faith to travel full-time in an RV. They dreamed of raising a family, but after several years, pregnancy didn’t come. But it finally did, only to end in devastating loss.
Eventually, Shelley came to a place of surrender, where she could tell God, 
Healing after pregnancy loss isn’t only a mother’s journey. Shelley shared that while she began to heal after that first year, CJ hadn’t yet processed his own grief. A counselor encouraged them to hold a ceremony together. They wrote a letter, prayed, named their baby C
Over the years, Shelley has found peace in trusting that God’s plans, though different from her dreams, are still good. “Because we didn’t have children, we’ve had the gift of time,” she said. “God has used that time in ministry and in ways we couldn’t have imagined.”
One of the things I loved about traveling in the Hope Mobile is how often God would meet me through His creation.
That same sense of awe often fills me when I stand at the ocean’s edge and watch the waves. The vastness of the sea reminds me of God’s love that is deep, unending, and powerful.
Another place that spoke to me deeply was a river we camped near during our travels. As I walked a path that followed the river, sometimes it would wind through the trees and I couldn’t see the water at all. There were times I could still hear it, and times I couldn’t. Then suddenly it would reappear, flowing beside me.
Back to those mountains I talked about, there was one morning I took a different trail that ended up climbing yet another mountain. This trail seemed to go on forever, and I started getting really tired, hoping it might connect with a shorter route back. I kept going, and when I reached the top, I was shocked to look way down below and see the top of the mountain that I had previously been on. I had no idea how far I had come until seeing where I had been before.
