Grief doesn’t come with a roadmap. Sometimes all we can do is focus on the next small step.
Lisa Espinoza, author of First, Just Brush Your Teeth, lost her son, Chandler, after being hit by a car while riding his bike. He was 25 years old. Recently, Lisa and I talked about those first days, the heaviness that comes with each moment, and what it looks like to simply keep moving forward when nothing makes sense anymore.
As we all know, it is hard to get out of bed each day, so Lisa came up with a simple motivation: First, just brush your teeth. That’s where she began. Not with big goals or a full schedule. Just that one small act of showing up for the day. And if she could do that, maybe she could get dressed, and then maybe walk downstairs.
When It Becomes Your Story
We all seem to come to a moment when we are somewhat forced to realize, “I’m one of those people now.” The ones we all refer to when we say, I can’t imagine losing a child. It’s something we never expect to be part of our own lives, and when it is, nothing feels the same again.
Life suddenly splits into “before” and “after.”
I knew I could not live out the rest of my life with this intense suffocating darkness and pain, but I didn’t know how to climb out of this horrible pit I had been hurled into, causing me to cry out to God for help.
Faith Without the Formulas
Child loss affects our faith. For a few, it almost immediately deepens. For most, it brings deep questions. But for all of us, it reshapes our relationship with Him in some way. Lisa’s foundation didn’t really shake, but her understanding of faith did change. The neat and tidy beliefs she had grown up with started to fall away, and what remained was simple: Emmanuel—God with us.
I remember having that same phrase hit me during a particularly difficult holiday season after Becca died. Christmas had always been her favorite season, full of decorations and music and giving gifts. The joy around me once again felt so out of place. Deep in my spirit, I felt an explosion in me saying: Emmanuel—God with us. I need You to be with me!
I ended up pulling out our old advent wreath, lighting a candle, and writing something as a reminder of how He was with me, every evening leading up to Christmas (which was eventually turned into the book Hope for the Future: An Advent Book for Bereaved Parents).
Lisa and I agreed that, especially in those seasons when everything feels dark, the idea of a God who is with us is what we need most. Not answers. Not explanations. Just His presence.
And often, that “God with us” comes through people. A friend checking in. A comforting text. A small act of kindness. Listening to a podcast or reading a blog. These may not feel dramatic or miraculous, but they’re real. They’re reminders that we’re not walking this road alone.
Finding Light in Gratitude
Before Chandler died, Lisa had started something she called her “God Moments Gratitude Journal.” While she couldn’t keep it up every day during the most intense parts of grief, it helped her shift her focus when she could. Naming even one small thing she was thankful for became a way to let in some light.
That is something I was encouraged to do as well. And like Lisa, I started small, each night writing down three to five things I was thankful for, like noticing someone’s smile, or the smell of freshly baked bread. It doesn’t change what happened, but it can soften the edges of the pain just enough to keep going.
I love how Lisa described gratitude as “pinpoints of light in the dark.” And that’s what it feels like. Not a floodlight that suddenly makes everything bright again—but small flickers of hope that show up as we recognize and name the good that is still around us.
The Bittersweet Blend of Life After Loss
Life is rarely just bitter or just sweet. It’s almost always a mix. We can be at a wedding, smiling and dancing, while feeling a deep ache inside for the child who isn’t there. That contrast can be hard to carry, but it’s real. We can learn how to take some time to accept the pain of the bitter… but then lean into the sweet.
Choosing to smile or feel joy again isn’t dishonoring to our child. Lisa shared how it is really the opposite. To live with meaning, to laugh again and to let moments of joy return, is how she is continuing to honor her son’s life.
Being Open to Hope
Toward the end of our conversation, Lisa said something simple that I think is worth repeating. If you’re in the thick of grief, she encourages you to be open to the possibility of hope. Not to force yourself to feel hopeful. Not to pretend. Just to leave the door cracked open.
Some days, that openness might look like brushing your teeth. Or getting dressed. Or making a short phone call. And that’s enough.
The path ahead may be unclear, but it’s not unclear to the One who walks with us. You don’t have to take the whole journey today. Just take the next step. Whatever that looks like for you.
NOTE: This was partially taken from the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast episode 304. 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.
about someone, we know what type of life-changing loss they have experienced. But when telling someone about our loss, it is along the line of, “Her child died.” There is no word that identifies the devastating, horrific, heart shattering traumatic loss in our lives.
I think it is important to have a word that validates the fact that parents who have lost a child through death have a weight that is extremely heavy…heavier than most will experience in this life. Not as a label to give us permission to wallow in our deep sorrow, but one that draws us together to be able to strengthen and encourage each other within our life-long club membership that none of us wanted.
The word pareavor sounds like a pretty good description of what happens when our child dies, no matter the age of the child. We are parents who have been deprived of our children who were seized and torn away from us through death. We are pareavors.
Sharing Hope (
the others he met earlier who made fun of him for not being real.
real; from being who I was, thinking I was “real,” to being who I am now, on the other side of the suffocating darkness after Becca’s death. As I came out of the darkness and back into a place of hope and light, I began to see myself differently and I began to see others differently, along with a depth I didn’t have before. And that is a good thing.
Our children gave us a great gift. The gift to become truly real. I know so many parents who are much further on this journey than I am, who have said they would not want to go back to being the person they were before their child died.
how we are forever changed because our child died, but I want to ask: How are you different now because your child LIVED? What are the new lenses your child’s life gave you, helping you to see the world with a different view than you had before?
