Have you ever had one of those moments when a thought comes to you and you stop and think, “Why have I never seen it this way before?”

That happened to me recently while I was responding to an email. I found myself writing something I had never really thought about before, and as soon as I wrote it, I knew I wanted to share it. It gave me a new way to think about heaven after child loss, and maybe it will give you a new perspective as well.

We often say that unless someone has lost a child, they cannot possibly understand what this kind of pain feels like. They can sympathize with us. They can love us and walk alongside us. But they cannot fully know the darkness or the pain that is beyond words unless they have experienced it themselves.

And then this thought hit me: Unless you have been to heaven, you cannot possibly know what it is like either. We can read about the freedom, the peace, the love and the beauty. We can believe everything God tells us about it. But we have never experienced it.

And our kids are there!

What If Heaven Is as Hard to Explain as Our Grief?

I have always believed that heaven is beyond what can be described or comprehended. I have often said that when Romans 8:18 talks about how the glory to come cannot even be compared with the suffering we go through here, it must be SOME glory based on how deep our suffering is from losing a child!

As pareavors, we know what deep suffering feels like. We know what it is like to wake up to another day without our child. We know the darkness that can settle over our hearts and the ache that follows us into birthdays, holidays, family gatherings and even ordinary moments.

But I had never stopped to really think about the fact that just like I can’t describe to someone the pain and darkness the death of one’s child throws you into, maybe our kids would not be able to describe to us the total peace, perfection and glory they now live in.

Think about that for a minute.

Have you ever tried to explain to someone what it feels like to lose a child? There simply are not words. You can describe the tears. You can describe the loneliness. You can describe the feeling that part of you has been ripped away. But no matter how hard you try, someone who has never experienced the death of a child cannot truly understand what it feels like.

Now turn that around.

What if our children tried to explain heaven to us? How would they describe a place where there is no fear, sickness, disappointment, regret, loneliness, tears or death? How would they explain standing in the presence of Jesus? How could they possibly put into words the peace, perfection and overwhelming love they are experiencing?

I don’t think they could!

Maybe it would be just as impossible for them to describe heaven to us, as it is for us to describe child loss to someone who has never experienced it.

Our children know something we don’t.

They no longer have to wonder what heaven is like. They know.

For me, that has become a new way to think about heaven after child loss.

When You’re Not Sure Your Child Is in Heaven

Before I move on, I want to speak to those whose hearts may have gone somewhere completely different while reading this. As I’ve been talking about our children being in heaven, some of you may have felt a knot in your stomach because you’re not sure your child is there.

I know this is one of the deepest fears some grieving parents carry. Maybe your child never made a profession of faith that you know about. Maybe they had walked away from God. Maybe you simply don’t know, and that question has tormented you.

I don’t have all the answers. None of us do. There are things about eternity that belong to God alone. But I do know the heart of our Heavenly Father.

I believe God’s love for your child is even greater than your love for your child. As impossible as that may seem, He created your son or daughter, He loves them with a perfect love, and His desire has always been to draw them into a relationship with Him.

Because of that, I believe God is big enough to have made every opportunity possible for your child to accept Him before leaving this earth. That could have happened during a time you know nothing about. It could have happened in a quiet conversation with God that was never shared with anyone else. It could even have happened in the final moments of your child’s life.

Not having the information that you desperately want to have doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. The way I see it, you can continue living in the torment of fear that your child might not be there, or you can live with peace, trusting that God made every opportunity possible for your child to receive His gift of salvation, even at the moment of crossing over, and your child accepted that gift and is waiting for you. 

I’m not trying to settle a theological debate. I simply want to encourage you to trust the heart of a God who loves your child even more than you do. There are questions we may not have answered until we get to heaven ourselves, but we can take those questions and fears to Him.

Knowing About Heaven Doesn’t Take Away the Pain

Before I go any further, though, I want to make something very clear. This new perspective (of heaven being so incredible our children would not be able to describe it to us) does not somehow make our pain disappear.

As much as I believe Becca is in heaven, and as much as I believe she is experiencing a joy beyond anything I can imagine, I still miss her. I still wish she were here. I still wish she could be sitting around the table with the rest of our family. Believing that heaven is wonderful doesn’t take away the ache of wishing our children were still here with us.

One of the things I have said for many years is that being a spiritual person doesn’t automatically erase the painful effects of our child leaving this earth ahead of us. Knowing our child is in heaven and believing we will see him or her again someday doesn’t bring some kind of God sized eraser that wipes away all the pain. It simply doesn’t work that way.

Sometimes, especially as Christians, I think we put pressure on ourselves that God never intended us to carry. We think that because we believe in heaven, we shouldn’t hurt so much. We may even wonder if something is wrong with our faith because the grief is still so deep after several years.

But I don’t believe God asks us to choose between hope and sorrow. He allows us to carry both at the same time.

There is a part of my heart that is incredibly happy for Becca. She will never know pain again. She will never face another surgery. She has both legs and no more heart issues. She is with Jesus, and there isn’t one part of me that would ever want to take that away from her.

But there is another part of me that still misses my daughter.

Those two things don’t cancel each other out. They live together in my heart. I can rejoice for where she is while grieving the fact that she isn’t here. I think that is one of the tensions we learn to carry as pareavors.

And this is important when we talk about a new way to think about heaven after child loss. Seeing heaven differently does not mean we suddenly stop grieving. It simply gives us another perspective to hold alongside our grief.

When Heaven Becomes Personal

I think one of the biggest changes that happens after the death of our child is that we begin living between two worlds.

Before Becca died, heaven was absolutely real to me because God’s Word tells us it is real. I believed the promises Scripture makes about eternity, and I looked forward to going there someday. But if I’m honest, I believed in heaven, but I wasn’t constantly thinking about it.

Then Becca died.

Suddenly, heaven wasn’t just a place I read about in my Bible. It became personal because someone I loved with all my heart was living there.

That is another part of finding a new way to think about heaven after child loss. We don’t become so heavenly minded that we stop caring about our lives here on earth. God still has purpose for us. He still has people for us to love, work for us to do and lives for us to touch. We still have family and friends, and we still have opportunities to reflect the love of Christ to those around us.

But something inside us has changed forever. Part of our heart is already in heaven.

I don’t mean that we should spend our days wishing our lives away. I don’t believe that’s God’s desire for us. We aren’t called to sit and wait until we die so we can be with our child again. We are called to live the life He has given us with purpose and faithfulness, even when it hurts.

At the same time, I don’t think we should apologize for longing for heaven more than we used to.

“But Laura, You’ve Made a Deposit There”

Almost one year to the day of Becca’s transfer to heaven, I admitted something to a friend that I felt terrible about. I told her I was looking forward to seeing Becca more than I was looking forward to seeing Jesus.

Her response was so precious.

“But Laura, you’ve made a deposit there!”

Those words stayed with me.

Several weeks later, I was reading in Matthew and came to chapter 6, verse 21: “Where your treasure is, your heart will be also.” Seeing that in the Word was both confirming and comforting.

My heart wasn’t being drawn toward heaven because I loved Jesus less. Someone I treasured was already there.

I think Jesus understands this. I picture getting to heaven and running to Becca, wrapping my arms around her and giving her the biggest hug ever, while Jesus watches with a huge smile, knowing He made this reunion possible. Then I picture myself turning to Him with so much love and gratefulness because He is the reason I get to have that moment.

And by the way, it took several years for me to get to the place where I could honestly say I am just as excited to see Jesus as I am to see my daughter.

Child loss changed the way I look at heaven. It isn’t just somewhere I am going someday. Someone I love deeply is already there.

A New Way to Think About Heaven After Child Loss

Child loss changed the way I look at heaven. It isn’t just somewhere I am going someday. Someone I love with all my heart is already there.

And now this new thought has given me another perspective. Just as I cannot adequately describe the depth and darkness of losing a child to someone who hasn’t experienced it, maybe Becca couldn’t adequately describe the peace, perfection and glory of heaven to me. She knows something I don’t because she is experiencing something I have never experienced.

That doesn’t make me miss her any less. But there is something comforting about knowing that while I am still trying to imagine what heaven is like, she doesn’t have to imagine it anymore.

She knows.

And one day, I will too.

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NOTE: This was partially taken from the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast episode 361. Click here to listen to the full discussion, or look for the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast on your favorite listening app.

My Grief Journey, My Grief Journey for Kids and other books by Laura: www.gpshope.org/books

To receive the weekly email of encouragement Laura was referring to click here.

Check out all the GPS Hope resources here.

To support this podcast and, keep it ad-free, and get exclusive content, visit us on Patreon

Download our FREE GUIDE. Rebuilding Your Life: A Gentle Guide Toward Hope and Healing After Child Loss. Discover gentle encouragement for your broken heart, practical support for the days ahead, and hope that meets you right where you are.

 

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. 

None of us ever imagined we would be searching for how to live the life you didn’t choose after child loss. Yet here we are.

None of us dreamed of becoming a bereaved parent, a pareavor. We didn’t choose to say goodbye to our child. We didn’t choose the shock, the trauma, the questions, or the suffocating darkness that followed. We didn’t choose the empty chair at the table, the birthdays that now bring tears instead of celebrations, or the milestones our son or daughter should have been here to experience.

We didn’t choose this life.

Because we didn’t choose it, it is easy to feel like we have no choices at all. In those early days of grief, that is often true. Grief takes over everything. Our minds can’t think clearly. Our emotions are all over the place. Just getting through the day can take every ounce of strength we have. There isn’t much room left for making decisions because it feels like grief is making them for us.

But as time passes, something begins to happen. Not because the pain is gone, and not because we suddenly feel stronger, but because little opportunities begin to appear. We find ourselves facing small decisions. They may seem insignificant, but they aren’t. Those little choices can begin shaping the direction of our journey.

I want to be very careful here because I never want anyone to hear me saying something that I’m not saying.

I’m not talking about choosing whether or not to grieve. We don’t get that choice. I’m not talking about pretending everything is okay. It isn’t. And I’m certainly not saying that if we just try harder, we’ll feel better.

What I am talking about is the reality that life often gives us two hard paths. We don’t get to choose whether the path is hard. Sometimes we only get to choose which hard we’re going to live.

The Small Choices Matter

If you are in those early days, weeks or even months after the death of your child, this is not directed at you. Those early days are about surviving. Your brain is trying to process a trauma. Your heart has been shattered. There is no timetable for that.

But somewhere along the way, something begins to shift.

Usually, it isn’t dramatic. In fact, you may not even notice it happening. One day you realize that you actually have a decision to make. Maybe it is deciding to cook a meal instead of grabbing another bowl of cereal. Maybe a friend invites you out for coffee and, instead of automatically saying no, you stop and actually consider it. Maybe you pick up your Bible for the first time in a while. You may only read a verse or two before setting it back down again, but you picked it up. That matters.

These don’t sound like big victories to anyone else, but for a grieving parent they can be huge.

Those small choices are not about loving your child less or somehow leaving them behind. They aren’t about pretending life is okay again. They are simply the first tiny steps of learning how to live the life you didn’t choose after child loss.

I think we sometimes overlook those little moments because we’re waiting for some giant breakthrough. We think healing is going to come in one big moment when suddenly everything feels different.

But that is rarely how God works.

More often, He meets us in the small choices. One conversation. One meal. One walk outside. One verse of Scripture. One prayer that simply says, “God, I don’t even know what to pray today, but I’m here.”

Those little choices may seem insignificant, but they aren’t. They are often the very things God uses to begin moving us forward. Not because the pain is less, but because He is gently reminding us that while grief has changed our lives, it doesn’t have to stop our lives.

Please hear me carefully.

We never move on from our child. In fact, every day we are getting closer and closer to seeing and being with them again. Until then, we carry them with us every single day while taking small steps forward in the life we’re still here to live. Those are two very different things.

Which Hard Leads Somewhere?

I wish I could tell you there is an easy way through the death of your child. I wish I had discovered some shortcut over the years that I could share with you. Believe me, if I had, I would.

But I haven’t.

No matter which direction we turn, it is hard.

It is hard to get out of bed some mornings. It is hard to face another birthday or another holiday. It is hard to walk into church when your child isn’t sitting beside you. It is hard to open your Bible when you’re struggling with questions you never thought you’d be asking. It is hard to make plans for a future that wasn’t supposed to look like this.

But over the years I have noticed something else.

Staying isolated is hard too. Never talking about your child because it hurts too much is hard. Believing nothing will ever change is hard. Living with anger every day is hard. Feeling like your life ended the day your child died is hard.

That is hard too.

So maybe the question isn’t, “How do I avoid the hard?”

Maybe the better question is, “Which hard leads somewhere?”

When I choose to have a difficult conversation, it is hard, but sometimes that conversation brings healing.

When I choose to trust God on a day when I don’t understand what He is doing, that is hard, but it strengthens my faith.

When I choose to get together with a friend instead of staying home by myself, it is hard, but I have never regretted spending time with someone who understands or simply cares enough to sit with me.

Those choices don’t take away my grief. They don’t make me miss Becca any less. They don’t erase the ache of wishing she was still here.

Healing, or rebuilding our life, is not living as though our child never existed or pretending we are fine. That is impossible. It is learning to function again, and then learning how to live a life of meaning and purpose again, not in spite of our child’s death, but because of his or her life.

Looking back now, I can see that God met me in those choices. Not because I was strong enough to make them on my own, but because every time I took even the smallest step toward Him, He was already there, giving me the strength for the next step.

What Am I Hoping In?

As I have walked this journey with grieving parents over the years, I have seen pareavors think it is hopeless. They say things like, “I’ll never be able to get past this,” or “It will always be like this for me,” more times than I could count. 

Maybe you’ve said those words yourself.

Over the years, I have learned something that has helped me whenever those thoughts begin creeping in. When I hear myself thinking, “It’s hopeless,” I stop and ask myself one question.

That depends. What am I hoping in?

If I am hoping life will somehow go back to the way it was before Becca died, then yes, that is hopeless. Life isn’t going back to what it was.

If I am hoping that someday I will wake up and no longer miss her, that isn’t going to happen either. Missing our children is part of loving them.

If I am hoping the pain will someday disappear completely, I will only end up discouraged because that isn’t how grief works.

Those are hopes that simply cannot be fulfilled this side of heaven.

Years before Becca went to heaven, she was being taken away to have her baby. The doctors could only give her a fifty-fifty chance of surviving. I remember standing there crying in Dave’s arms, saying, “I don’t know why I’m crying, because I know that I trust God!”

Dave answered with words I have never forgotten.

“It’s because we don’t know which direction we’re going to have to trust Him for.”

Those words have stayed with me all these years.

I think that is where so many of us find ourselves. It isn’t that we have stopped trusting God. It is that we don’t know what He is asking us to trust Him for. We don’t know what tomorrow will bring. We don’t know what the next wave of grief will look like. We simply don’t know which direction we’re going to have to trust Him for.

Hope isn’t believing that everything is going to turn out the way I want it to. Hope isn’t expecting life to become what it once was.

My hope is in Christ.

My hope is that He is still with me, even on the darkest days. My hope is that He is still working, even when I can’t see what He is doing. My hope is that He will continue giving me the strength I need for whatever lies ahead. And my hope is that because of Jesus, this separation from Becca is not forever.

That is why I love Romans 15:13, the verse the ministry of GPS Hope is built on: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him…” He isn’t just the One who gives us hope. He is the God of hope.

Choose What You Are For   

There is one more thought that has helped me.

It is so easy after the death of our child to think about everything from the standpoint of what we can’t do.

“I can’t go there.”

“I can’t face those people.”

“I can’t celebrate.”

Sometimes those thoughts are very real, especially in the beginning. There are things we truly aren’t ready for. But as time goes on, maybe we can begin asking a different question.

What am I choosing for?

Maybe a friend invites you for coffee. Instead of only thinking about what you are trying to avoid, ask yourself what you would be choosing for if you went.

Maybe you are choosing friendship.

Maybe you are choosing connection.

Maybe you are choosing an hour that reminds you there is still kindness in this world.

Maybe you are allowing yourself to be cared for.

The coffee really isn’t the point. The point is what you are choosing for.

The same thing is true when you decide to open your Bible, even when you don’t feel like it. You aren’t just reading because it is what “good” Christians are supposed to do. You are choosing to spend time with the One who loves you more than anyone else ever could.

Or maybe you decide to take a walk, work on a hobby, or accept an invitation that you have been turning down for months. You aren’t choosing those things because you have stopped grieving.

You are choosing them because you are taking one more small step toward the life God is helping you rebuild.

When we only think about what we are choosing against, we can end up feeling like we are constantly fighting our grief.

But when we begin thinking about what we are choosing for, we start seeing that these little decisions are actually moving us toward something. They are moving us toward connection. They are moving us toward hope. They are moving us toward healing.

And isn’t that really what rebuilding is?

It isn’t one giant decision that changes everything overnight. It is hundreds of little choices, made one at a time, that slowly begin putting the pieces back together.

Sometimes God Invites Us to Something New

One of the practical ways I think God helps us take those small steps forward is by sometimes inviting us to do something new. I am not talking about making huge life changes. I am talking about something much smaller.

Sometimes it is simply trying something you haven’t done before. Or maybe it is picking up something you used to enjoy years ago that somehow got left behind.

After Becca died, I eventually picked up my knitting needles again. It had been years since I had knitted. Picking them up again didn’t take away my grief or make me miss Becca any less. But it did remind me that there was still something inside me that could create instead of only mourning.

Trying something new doesn’t lessen our love for our child. It doesn’t erase our memories. It doesn’t mean we have stopped grieving. It simply means we are allowing God to breathe a little life into places that have felt dark for a very long time.

Maybe trying something new is like picking up a hammer to rebuild a house. It may feel awkward. It may feel scary. You may wonder if it is worth the effort. But perhaps it is one of the tools God wants to use as He continues rebuilding your life.

You don’t have to do something big. Just be willing to take one small step. Usually that is all God is asking of us.

How to Live the Life You Didn’t Choose After Child Loss

None of us chose this life. If we could have chosen, every one of us would have chosen to keep our child here with us. We would have chosen a completely different story. But that isn’t the choice in front of us today. The choice we do have is how we will walk through this life we have been given.

Will it be hard? Absolutely.

But staying stuck is hard too. Living without hope is hard. Believing nothing will ever change is hard.

So maybe the question isn’t whether this journey will be hard. Maybe the question is, “Which hard leads me closer to the God of hope?”

Because that is the hard that I want to choose. Not because I enjoy it. Not because it hurts any less, but because I have discovered that every time I take one small step toward Him, He is already there, ready to take that step with me.

That doesn’t remove our pain, but it does give us a place to anchor our hope. We don’t have to figure out the rest of our lives today. We don’t have to know what next year, next month, or even tomorrow will look like. We simply need to ask God to help us take the next small step, trusting that as we move toward Him, He is already there, ready to meet us with the strength we need for whatever comes next.

Perhaps that’s what learning how to live the life you didn’t choose after child loss really looks like. It isn’t finding a way around the pain, and it isn’t finally arriving at a place where grief no longer hurts. It’s choosing, one small step at a time, the hard that leads you closer to the God of hope. 

And as you keep choosing those small steps, I believe you’ll discover that God is faithfully rebuilding a life you never would have chosen. Not into the life you once had, because that isn’t possible, but into a life where His presence, His purpose, and His hope are carrying you forward until the day you are reunited with your child.

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NOTE: This was partially taken from the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast episode 360. Click here to listen to the full discussion, or look for the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast on your favorite listening app.

Information about the Reflections of Hope Book.

GPS Hope & Healing retreat, October 16-18, in Sarasota, FL

Check out all the GPS Hope resources here.

To support this podcast and, keep it ad-free, and get exclusive content, visit us on Patreon

Download our FREE GUIDE. Rebuilding Your Life: A Gentle Guide Toward Hope and Healing After Child Loss. Discover gentle encouragement for your broken heart, practical support for the days ahead, and hope that meets you right where you are.

 

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.