“So since I’m still here livin’, I guess I will live on. I could’ve died for love—
But for livin’ I was born.” — Langston Hughes
Grief does not ask permission. Grief crashes into a life and reshapes it without warning. The death of a child cuts deeper than words can ever express. Many grieving parents have felt moments when the pain became so unbearable, even breathing felt optional. Waking up becomes an act of resistance. Getting dressed feels like a quiet act of survival. There were days I questioned whether I had anything left to offer. But I kept waking up. I kept breathing. The fact that we are still here matters. Every heartbeat is a decision to remain.
Survival looks different after loss. A grieving parent may appear strong while barely holding together inside. Behind every steady smile is a story of shattered dreams. Yet within that pain lives something else—a quiet resolve. The heart breaks, but something still beats. Love does not end with death. Love continues in remembrance, in connection, and in service. Many of us begin to live differently after loss. We become more aware of moments, more present with people, and more attuned to the sacredness of time.
Living on does not mean forgetting. Living on means honoring the love in every breath we still take. That love becomes a guide. That love can turn pain into purpose. A grieving heart may never return to the person it once was. But a grieving heart can learn to live forward, even while looking back. Life after loss will never be the same. But life after loss can still carry meaning. The will to live becomes a tribute to the one we lost.
Thought for today: Each breath is an act of love. Live gently. Live slowly. But live, because love still lives in you.