After the death of a child, grieving parents are often met with well-meaning but misplaced comparisons — as if losing a job, a pet, or even a spouse can be equated to losing your child. But those of us who have lived through this heartbreak know: there is no comparison. The loss of a child is different. It is deeper, more consuming, and it changes everything.

Why? Because your child is not just someone you love — they are part of you. Not just in DNA, but in dreams, in daily life, in the future you imagined. Parenting is a lifelong act of nurturing, of shaping and being shaped by the love between you and your child. When that child dies, it’s as if a part of you dies with them.

The grief that follows isn’t just emotional — it’s physical. It lives in your body, your breath, your routine. It shows up in the quiet moments and in the loud ones too. Even as time passes, the ache may shift, but it never truly leaves. You learn to function, even laugh, but that joy becomes contained — something you carefully hold, rather than freely express.

Grieving parents aren’t looking for sympathy. What we long for is understanding. We need the space to honor our children, to speak their names, to ask the hard questions — like “Where are you?” or “How do I go on?” And perhaps most importantly, we need the freedom to find our way to the mountaintop moments — the ones that bring light, connection, and even a glimmer of peace.

So, if you know someone walking this path, don’t try to fix it. Just be there. Let them tell their story. Let them be understood.

Because when a child dies, we don’t just lose someone we love — we lose the future, the laughter, the milestones, the sound of their footsteps in our hallways. That’s why this grief is so heavy. And that’s why it matters that we speak it out loud.