Read Their Stories
Family
Grief can feel isolating, but here, you are not alone. These are real storiesātestimonies of love, loss, resilience, and remembrance. Through their words, you may find comfort, understanding, and a connection to your own journey.
Each story is proof of the bonds we carry with us, even after loss. Grief is not just sorrowāit is love that refuses to fade. Take your time, explore these heartfelt journeys, and find strength in shared experiences.
Find Stories That Speak to You:
Grief is deeply personal, but that doesnāt mean you have to carry it alone. Click through to discover voices that echo your emotions, remind you of shared strength, and offer the comfort of knowing others have walked this path too.
Not every story has a resolution, and not every grief finds closure. But through connection, we can hold each other up in the heaviness of loss.
š¬ A Note Before You Read
Every story here comes from different placesācollected from friends, family, online reflections, and even my own personal experiences. Some are brief moments of grief, others unfold in deep, emotional journeys.
Take what resonates. Leave what doesnāt. And know that, in reading, you are walking alongside others who have felt this too.
šļø Which Story Needs to Be Heard?
GrandParents
They held our history, our childhood stories, the wisdom of generations before us. Their absence leaves an emptiness that lingers in family traditions, in old photographs, in the way they made the world feel just a little safer.
Here, youāll find stories from others who have walked this pathāwho have loved, lost, and carried their grandparentsā legacy forward in quiet, beautiful ways.
šÆļø Need Support in Your Grief?
Grief isnāt something you just get over, but when youāre ready to explore ways to carry it differently, we have resources that might help.
Ā šļø Find comfort, guidance, and reflections on grief.
Love doesnāt end with loss. If youāre looking for ways to cherish, honor, and celebrate the ones you loveāpast and presentāthis is the space for you.
š Explore ways to keep their memory alive
š Holding Onto What Matters
šļø Which Story Needs to Be Heard?
Parents
They were the ones who taught you how to walk, how to tie your shoes, how to navigate the worldāsometimes with wisdom, sometimes with tough love, sometimes just by being there. Maybe they were your anchor, the one you could always turn to. Maybe the relationship was complicated, full of words left unsaid. Either way, they were yours, and now, theyāre gone.
Losing a parent isnāt just about missing the personāitās about missing the guidance, the safety, the unshakable presence of someone who was supposed to be there for a lifetime. You still catch yourself wanting to call them, wondering what theyād say, longing for just one more moment, one more chance to say thank you, or Iām sorry, or simply I love you.
Here, youāll find stories from others who have walked this impossible path. No one can replace them. Nothing can truly fill the space they left behind. But in sharing, in remembering, in grieving together, we remind ourselves that love never really disappearsāit just changes form.
šÆļø Need Support in Your Grief?
Grief doesnāt follow a straight line, and thereās no right way to move through it. But when youāre ready, there are ways to carry it that feel a little lighter.
Ā šļø Find comfort, guidance, and reflections on grief.
They may be gone, but they are never truly lost. Their lessons, their love, the pieces of them that live on in youāthose remain. If youāre looking for ways to cherish their memory, to celebrate their life, youāre in the right place.
š Explore ways to keep their memory alive
š Holding Onto What Matters
šļø Which Story Needs to Be Heard?
Children
There are no words big enough for this kind of loss. A child is supposed to grow, to stumble and rise, to outlive the ones who brought them into this world. And when that doesnāt happen, when their story ends far too soon, the grief is beyond measure.
Maybe it was sudden. Maybe it was something you saw coming but could never prepare for. Maybe you still wake up expecting to hear their voice, to feel their presence, to live in the world as it should have beenāone where they are still here. Losing a child is losing the future you imagined for them, the milestones that will never come, the love you still carry but have nowhere to put.
Here, youāll find stories from others who have felt this unbearable ache. No platitudes, no trying to fix the unfixableājust the quiet understanding that you are not alone in this. That grief this deep doesnāt go away, but neither does love. And maybe, in the sharing, we can learn how to carry both.
šÆļø Need Support in Your Grief?
Some losses feel impossible to bear. If you’re looking for ways to carry this pain, to make sense of what feels unthinkable, we have reflections that might help.
Ā šļø Find comfort, guidance, and reflections on grief.
Their lifeāno matter how longāmattered. If youāre looking for ways to honor them, to keep their memory alive, to hold onto the love that will never fade, you are not alone in that.
š Explore ways to keep their memory alive
š Holding Onto What Matters
šļø Which Story Needs to Be Heard?
Sibling
They were supposed to be there forever. The built-in best friend, the rival, the one who shared your childhood in a way no one else ever could. Maybe they were your protector. Maybe you were theirs. Maybe they were the only person who truly got youāwho knew your history because they were part of it.
And now, theyāre gone. The person who remembered the same childhood stories, who laughed at the same inside jokes, who carried pieces of the past with youānow itās all yours alone. Grief like this is disorienting. Itās not just missing them; itās missing who you were when they were still here. Itās the space they filled, the future they were supposed to be part of, the empty seat at every holiday gathering.
Here, youāll find stories from others who have walked this same road. Thereās no way to replace them, no way to make the loss easierābut in sharing, we remind ourselves that love like this never fades. And that even in grief, you are not alone.
šÆļø Need Support in Your Grief?
Losing a sibling changes everythingāthe past, the present, the future. If you need space to process, reflect, or just sit with this grief, we have resources to help.
Ā šļø Find comfort, guidance, and reflections on grief.
They are part of your story, always. If youāre looking for ways to honor their life, to carry them forward with you, to remember them in a way that feels rightāyou are not alone in that.
š Explore ways to keep their memory alive
š Holding Onto What Matters
šļø Which Story Needs to Be Heard?
Extended Family
Family isnāt just the people in our homesāitās the aunts who spoiled us, the uncles who told the best stories, the cousins who felt like siblings. Itās the grandparents, the great-grandparents, the second cousins twice removed who somehow made the world feel smaller, warmer, connected.
And when theyāre gone, it changes things. Maybe they were the glue that held the family together. Maybe they were the reason you looked forward to holidays. Maybe you didnāt see them often, but when you did, it always felt like home. Now, their absence lingers in ways you never expectedāin the empty seat at the table, in the missing laughter, in the family stories that feel different when theyāre not the ones telling them.
Here, youāll find stories from others who have lost someone who was part of their family web. Grief doesnāt care about distanceāit only knows love. And if youāre feeling the ache of their absence, you donāt have to carry it alone.
šÆļø Need Support in Your Grief?
Losing familyāno matter how close or farāleaves a space that canāt be filled. If youāre looking for ways to process, reflect, or just sit with this grief, we have resources to help.
Ā šļø Find comfort, guidance, and reflections on grief.
Family is more than bloodāitās love, connection, memory. If youāre looking for ways to honor and cherish those who are gone, to keep their stories alive, you are not alone in that.
š Explore ways to keep their memory alive
š Holding Onto What Matters
Grief & Solace
šÆļø The Hands That Built Us
“Grandparents are more than just family members; they are the keepers of traditions, values, and stories that shape who we are. Their presence weaves together the fabric of our lives, creating a lasting legacy that we carry forward in our actions, memories, and love.”
In Her Own Words:
my grandfather used to tell me that time moves faster the older you get. when i was a kid, i didnāt get it. summers stretched on forever, birthdays took an eternity to come back around. but now? now, i blink and a whole year is gone. now, i see his chair sitting empty, and it feels like he left just yesterday.
he was the kind of man who knew how to fix things. leaky faucets, broken fences, hearts that had taken one too many hits. he never raised his voice, never rushed. just moved through life like he had all the time in the world. and maybe thatās what makes it so damn hardābecause now, all i have is time, and none of it brings him back.
i still hear him in the little things. the way i fold my napkin at dinner. the way i take my coffee. the way i hum when i donāt even realize iām doing it. heās not here, but somehow, he is. stitched into the way i live my life.
guess thatās what legacy really is.
ā Clara M.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on losing a grandparent & their legacy
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
šÆļø Living His Lessons
“After my grandfather passed, I realized his values had shaped so much of who I am today. Honoring him isnāt just about remembering himāitās about living out the lessons he taught me.”
In Her Own Words:
my grandfather used to say that your word was the only thing in life that truly belonged to you. you break it, you lose a part of yourself. i was too young to really understand what he meant back then. thought he was just talking about promises, about keeping your word in the simplest sense.
now i get it. he wasnāt just talking about telling the truth. he meant integrity, meant standing by what you believe in even when no oneās watching. meant showing up, even when itās hard. i catch myself hearing his voice in the back of my head when i make decisions, like a compass i didnāt even know i had.
losing him hurt. still does. but in some ways, he never really left. heās there in the way i carry myself, in the way i try to be steady when things get tough. honoring him isnāt about grand gestures or big tributes. itās in the little thingsākeeping my word, keeping my head up, keeping the people i love close.
and i think heād be proud of that.
ā Ellie J.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on losing a grandparent & their legacy
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
š£ Grief in Crayon
“When my son lost his grandma, he started drawing pictures of them fishing together. It was his way of remembering and processing the loss. I learned that supporting him wasnāt about fixing his grief, but letting him express it in his own way.”
In Her Own Words:
the first time i saw the drawing, i almost lost it. him and grandma in a little boat, two stick figures smiling under a bright yellow sun. he even colored the fish blue, just like the ones they used to catch.
i wanted to tell him it was okay to be sad. that he didnāt have to draw her like she was still here. but he just kept going, filling page after page with the same picture, the same memory. and i realizedāthis was him being sad. this was him holding on.
grief isnāt always tears and silence. sometimes itās a five-year-old with a box of crayons, refusing to let go just yet. and thatās okay.
i still have every single drawing.
ā Maria T.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on grief through a childās eyes
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
š ļø The Pieces We Keep
“When my father passed away, I felt like Iād lost not only him but also a part of myself. Over time, I learned that grief isnāt about āgetting overā the lossāitās about carrying their love forward.”
In His Own Words:
i used to borrow my dadās tools without asking. drove him crazy. heād go looking for a wrench, and iād have it in the garage, halfway through some half-baked project. heād shake his head, mumble something about putting things back where they belong.
after he died, i found myself standing in his workshop, surrounded by all the things he left behind. his tools were exactly where heād last put them, and suddenly, i couldnāt move a single one. it felt wrong, like if i kept everything just as it was, maybe i wouldnāt have to face that he was gone.
but grief doesnāt work like that. leaving things untouched didnāt bring him back. neither did pretending i was okay. what did? using the damn tools. fixing things the way he taught me. remembering the sound of his voice, the way he measured twice, cut once. realizing that he wasnāt just goneāhe was still here, in the way i build, in the way i work, in the way i live.
i donāt āborrowā his tools anymore. but i still put them back where they belong.
ā Douglas W.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on losing a parent
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
š Carrying the Weight
“I once heard a mother describe grief as carrying a heavy backpackāits weight shifting unpredictably. Sometimes, itās unbearably heavy; other times, it lightens just enough to let her move forward. For parents, the challenge lies in carrying this burden while guiding their children through their own grief. Balancing these roles is daunting but also an opportunity to model resilience and deepen family connections.”
In Her Own Words:
some days, i wake up and itās just *there.* the weight of it, pressing against my ribs before i even get out of bed. grief is like thatāit sneaks up on you, settles in like it never left. but thereās no time to sit with it, not when little eyes are watching.
my daughter asked me once if grown-ups cry too. i wanted to tell her the truth, that sometimes i cry in the car, in the shower, in the kitchen while waiting for the coffee to brew. but instead, i just nodded and said, *of course we do.*
she asked if i missed him, if it still hurt. i told her yes. but i also told her something i wish someone had told meāthat love doesnāt disappear just because someone is gone. we carry it. we carry *them.*
grief is heavy, but so is love. and somehow, we learn to carry both.
ā Laura M.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on grieving as a parent
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
šŖ The Power of Sitting Still
“A friend sat with me for hours,ā one parent shared. āShe didnāt say much, but her being there made me feel less alone.”
In His Own Words:
after my dad passed, people kept asking what they could do. did i need anything? could they help? but what do you say to that? no one can bring him back. no one can undo the empty chair at the table.
then one day, a friend just showed up. no big gesture, no *if you need anything, let me know.* she just sat there, in my living room, drinking coffee like it was any other day. and somehow, that was enough.
grief is lonely. even when youāre surrounded by people, it isolates you. but that day, for a few hours, i wasnāt alone. she didnāt fill the silence with platitudes, didnāt try to fix what couldnāt be fixed. she just existed alongside me.
and sometimes, thatās all you really need.
ā Robert C.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on losing a parent
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
š³ Roots of Remembrance
“I once read about a mother who helped her son cope with losing his grandfather by planting a tree in his honor. Each week, theyād water it together, share memories, and watch it grow. This simple ritual became a powerful way to process grief, blending love, remembrance, and healing.”
In Her Own Words:
when my dad passed, i didnāt know how to explain it to my son. he was too young to understand death the way adults do, but he *felt* it. the absence. the missing piece.
one day, he asked if grandpa was coming back. and when i said no, he just stood there, quiet. then he asked, *so where did he go?*
i didnāt have an answer. so instead, we planted a tree.
it was his idea. a way to ākeep grandpa close.ā we dug into the dirt together, placed the roots carefully, and he patted the soil down with his small hands. every week, we watered it. every week, he told me a story about grandpa. the time they went fishing. the time he made the best pancakes. the time they danced in the kitchen just because.
grief doesnāt always need words. sometimes, it just needs a place to grow.
ā Teresa K.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on grief rituals & remembrance
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
šŖ The Wind Still Blows
“Grief doesnāt pause for parenthood. You still have to pack lunches, help with homework, and smile when you donāt feel like smiling. But in those small moments, you start to find pieces of yourself again.”
In Her Own Words:
i didnāt realize how much grief would change the shape of my days. i thought it would be something separate, something i could deal with in quiet moments after my son fell asleep. but it doesnāt work like that. grief follows you. it stands next to you while you pour cereal, while you sign permission slips, while you pretend not to notice your kid watching you a little too closely.
one day, he asked why i donāt laugh as much anymore. said i used to throw my head back when something was really funny. now, i just smile a little. small. careful.
i told him i was just tired. but later that night, i thought about how long it had been since i really let go like that. i thought about my mother, and how she used to say that laughter was like flying a kiteāit lifted you, even just for a little while.
the next morning, i took my son to the park. we brought an old kite, one we hadnāt touched in years. and when the wind caught it, for the first time in a long time, i let myself feel light.
grief changes you. but maybe, eventually, you learn how to lift with it.
ā Laura T.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on grieving as a parent
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
šÆļø Hope Is Not a Replacement
“I realized hope didnāt replace my griefāit gave me the courage to keep my childās memory alive in a new way.”
In Her Own Words:
people talk about hope like itās supposed to fix something. like if you hold onto it tight enough, itāll fill in all the cracks. but thatās not how this works. hope didnāt bring my child back. it didnāt make the loss smaller, didnāt make the days easier.
but it gave me something else. it gave me a reason to speak their name out loud. to keep telling their stories, even when my voice shakes. to find ways to honor them, even in the smallest moments.
i still set a plate for them on their birthday. i still whisper goodnight. i still catch myself turning to share something before i remember.
hope didnāt erase my grief. but it gave me permission to carry it differently.
ā Jennifer L.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on child loss & remembrance
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
š¦ Love That Doesnāt Leave
“When we lost our daughter, I felt an emptiness I couldnāt put into words. But in honoring her memory, I discovered a love that continues to guide me every day.”
In Her Own Words:
grief is quiet. people think itās all tears and breaking down, but mostly, itās the stillness that gets you. itās the empty seat at the dinner table, the name you almost say before catching yourself. itās walking past the little shoes you couldnāt bring yourself to pack away.
for a long time, all i could feel was the absence. like a space that used to be filled with laughter and tiny footsteps had just… gone silent.
but love doesnāt just disappear. i started to see it in the ways sheās still here. in the stories we tell about her, in the traditions we keep. in the way i look at the stars and remember how she used to say they were little night-lights for the sky. i write her name in the sand when we go to the beach. i still sign her name in birthday cards, like somehow, sheās still part of us. because she is.
grief doesnāt leave. but neither does love.
ā Laura B.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on child loss & remembrance
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
šŖ» A Space for Her
“Creating a special corner with her favorite items gave us a place to feel close to her. Itās become a quiet sanctuary for our family.”
In Her Own Words:
at first, i couldnāt move anything. her room stayed exactly as it was. untouched, frozen in time, like if i left it just right, maybe sheād somehow walk back in.
but grief doesnāt work like that. the stillness started to feel heavier than the loss itself. one day, we started gathering her favorite thingsāher stuffed rabbit, her favorite book, the little bracelet she never took off. we made a space for her, a small corner where she still existed in the way that mattered most.
now, we sit there when we miss her. we light a candle. we talk to her. we donāt pretend she isnāt gone, but we donāt pretend she isnāt still here, either.
itās not just a memorial. itās a reminder. of love. of presence. of her.
ā Marina F.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on child loss & remembrance
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
š© When They Say Her Name
“I never knew how much a simple text or a shared memory could meanājust knowing my daughter wasnāt forgotten gave me hope.”
In Her Own Words:
grief is lonely. even when youāre surrounded by people, it isolates you. because no one else lost *her*. no one else wakes up every day with the silence she left behind.
but then, sometimes, out of nowhereāsomeone says her name.
i got a text from an old friend last month. *was just thinking about her today. i still remember how she always had stickers all over her notebooks.* it was such a small thing, but i read it over and over. someone else remembered. someone else carried a piece of her, too.
i save those messages. the little stories people send me. i tuck them away for the days when the weight feels unbearable.
because knowing sheās still here in their memories? it makes the loss just a little less sharp.
ā Miranda W.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on child loss & remembrance
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
š The Silence She Left
“I never realized how much I depended on my sisterās laughter to see the brightness in each day.”
In Her Own Words:
itās too quiet now. i never noticed how much space her laughter filled until it was gone. how even the dumbest joke could turn into something uncontrollably funny when she was around.
sometimes i still hear it. in old voicemails. in the way our mom laughs when she forgets, just for a second, that sheās missing one of us. in my own voice, when something catches me off guard and i sound *just like her.*
i thought losing my sister would feel like losing someone else. but it didnāt. it felt like losing *part of myself.* like someone rewrote my history and left a blank space where she used to be.
grief is weird. i miss her in obvious ways, but also in the ones i never saw coming. like realizing no one calls me by my stupid childhood nickname anymore. or that i donāt have someone to text when a random memory hits me out of nowhere.
but i still talk to her. in my head, in the car, when i pass by things i know she wouldāve loved. and maybe thatās just how it is nowāher laughter is gone, but the echoes of it still live in me.
ā Emily R.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on sibling loss
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
šļø The Stories We Keep
“My brother wasnāt just my sibling; he was my best friend. When he passed, I felt like I lost a piece of myself. But sharing stories about him with my family has kept his memory alive and helped us heal together.”
In Her Own Words:
he could make a joke out of anything. even when he probably shouldnāt have. even when it got him into trouble. i used to roll my eyes at it, pretend like i wasnāt laughing too. but now? now, iād give anything to hear one of his dumb jokes again.
after he passed, i was afraid to talk about him. like saying his name would make the loss heavier. like if i started remembering out loud, i wouldnāt be able to stop.
but then one night, sitting around the table, our mom told a story about him. something ridiculous he did when he was ten. and we all laughedāreally laughed. for the first time in a long time, it felt like he was *there* again.
so we kept telling stories. little ones. big ones. the ones that still make us cry, and the ones that make us laugh until our sides hurt. and somehow, through all of it, he stays with us.
grief takes, but remembering gives something back.
ā Lisa T.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on sibling loss
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
š The Calls That Kept Us Going
“Daily check-ins with my uncles became our lifeline. We laughed, cried, and kept my motherās spirit alive through every shared moment.”
In Her Own Words:
after my mom passed, the house felt too quiet. i kept reaching for my phone, out of habit, about to call her. that was the worst partārealizing over and over that she wouldnāt pick up.
then, one day, my uncle called me instead. just to check in. we didnāt talk about anything important. just small thingsāwhat we had for dinner, how awful the traffic was, some ridiculous thing my cousin did. but it made the silence a little less unbearable.
the next day, he called again. and then my other uncle did. soon, it became routineālittle check-ins that turned into something bigger. we laughed, we told stories, we grieved together. it wasnāt the same as hearing her voice, but somehow, through them, she still felt close.
grief doesnāt go away. but love doesnāt, either. sometimes, it just finds a new way to reach you.
ā Miranda H.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on family grief & connection
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love
šŖ The Empty Chair
“When I lost my cousin, I never realized how much her presence anchored family reunions until she wasnāt there.”
In His Own Words:
she was always the first to show up and the last to leave. the one who made sure everyone got in the big group picture, the one who never let awkward silence linger too long. every reunion, every holiday, every time we all got togetherāshe was just *there.*
until she wasnāt.
the first family gathering without her feltā¦ off. we all felt it. conversations didnāt flow the same. no one knew who was supposed to round people up for the photos. her chair sat empty, but her absence was the loudest thing in the room.
grief sneaks up on you like that. itās not just in the big momentsāitās in the quiet ones, the spaces someone used to fill without you even realizing it.
we still gather. still take the photos, still share the stories. but there will always be a space where she should be. and maybe thatās how itās supposed to be.
ā Steven L.
Here, you can find deeper support: Explore more on family loss & remembrance
Find ways to celebrate what matters most: Discover meaningful ways to hold onto love