“Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.” — Langston Hughes
Many grieving parents struggle to hold onto anything that once felt meaningful. The loss of a child tears the future wide open. Every hope we once held can feel like an insult to what is now gone. Dreams once cherished begin to feel hollow. The world becomes unrecognizable. Some parents stop dreaming altogether, afraid to feel that kind of pain again. But the soul does not survive on grief alone. Dreams do not deny our sorrow. Dreams quietly remind us we are still alive.
Dreams after loss look different. A grieving parent may no longer dream of milestones or long-term plans. Instead, we may learn to dream of moments. A gentle sunrise. A deep breath that doesn’t hurt. A connection with someone who understands. These small dreams become sacred. Grief teaches us that even the smallest joy is worth holding. Broken hearts learn to see beauty in things once overlooked. Each small dream becomes an act of defiance against despair.
A broken-winged bird may not soar again. But a grounded bird still sings. The voice of sorrow can carry unexpected melodies. Dreams shaped by loss often carry more truth than those we held before. We dream now not of perfection, but of presence. We dream of finding peace, even in pain. Those quiet dreams matter. Holding fast to even one small dream can carry us through the darkest night. A single dream can remind the grieving heart that flight is still possible—just in a different direction.
Thought for today: Let one small dream take root. Even broken wings can find grace in stillness.