She is not there. It's her 9th birthday. She went to heaven on 25th June 2026. I am just happy I fulfilled her wish of celebrating her 8th birthday with her friends. Party, games, snacks and cake. I had no idea it was her last birthday. Missing her a lot today.

my daughter died october 14 due to pneumonia, i cannot mentally, physically and emotionally accept it

i haven't been working, eating and doing anything. i cannot physically function

i am in debt, rents are due, i am hell. i wanna die please how do i end it all. i can't bare all the pain

How long should a mother grieve the death of her child?
At what point should a mother “get over” it?
Let’s think about what you’re asking.
Suppose a woman gives birth at 25. Throughout her child’s early years,
she spends hours holding, rocking, feeding, cuddling, and making room on her lap.
An illustrative estimate might look like this:
Birth–1 year: 6 hours a day, 2,190 hours
Ages 1–3: 3 hours a day, 2,190 hours
Ages 3–5: 1 hour a day, 730 hours
Ages 5–12: 15 minutes a day, 639 hours
Ages 12–18: 5 minutes a day, 183 hours
That’s roughly 5,900 hours spent holding her child. Every family is different, of course.
Some mothers get far fewer hours than they should.
But holding is only one way to count.
Between birth and age 18, there are nearly 158,000 hours.
A mother’s love exists through every one of them. While she’s working.
While she’s sleeping. When her child is beside her, across town,
or somewhere she wishes they’d call home from.
If that mother lives to 81, she will have loved that child for 56 years—nearly half a million hours.
And that doesn’t even count the love that began before her child was born.
But suppose her child dies at 17.
There is no clause giving Death control over a mother’s heart.
No switch that turns off her motherhood.
No expiration date suddenly stamped on her love.
Death does not take away her love for her child.
It does not erase the years she expected to spend loving them.
She still has all that love, and now she has to live those years without being able to hold the person it belongs to.
Her grief may change over time. She may laugh, find joy, make plans, and build a life that holds more than her pain.
None of that means she has stopped missing her child.
So, how long should a mother grieve?
For as long as she would have loved them in life.
To her dying breath.
And those of us who have lost a child know we’ll love them until we die…
and a couple of extra days after that, to cover travel time.
Just to be on the safe side.

It’s been 35 days since my sweet girl passed away.
I cannot imagine another 5,10,20 years of this hell. This is not living. I’m just waiting to die so I can be with her again. People keep telling me give it time. Will waiting bring her back?! I don’t know how much “strength “ I have in me.

My sweet four year old son transitioned back in August of this year. Today I’m ANGRY. I’m angry at the fact that I can no longer make new memories with my son that I have to rely on videos and pictures. I’m angry at the fact that I can no longer take him to school and hear his voice. I’m angry because grief is trying to consume me that it’s causing me not to be 100% mentally there for my living child, like I can’t give him all of me because the other half is gone with his older brother. I keep telling myself to keep swimming because I honestly feel like I’m stuck in the middle of ocean at night and just lost. But it’s so hard. It’s almost as if grief is a disease.

RIP to the one that made me a mother, continue to fly high baby.

My 19 year old son passed away unexpectedly from a medical event nearly 9 weeks ago.
What the f*ck*??* Seriously, what the actual f*ck?!
NOTHING can prepare you for something like this, losing your child?!?! I just don’t understand. I can’t fathom that this has happened. I know he’s gone, I saw him, spent time with him, buried him. But what do you MEAN he’s gone?! How is that even possible? I understand he’s gone, but I don’t understand?? And how do you just carry on living your life after this?? I have a daughter, I have a reason to carry on, to try, but how??? Nothing will ever be the same again. It’s unbearably sad and unfair and F*CKED.

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/19dJdgMR3F/

I'm not sure if any other parents here attended Faith's Lodge or received help from the Child Loss Foundation, but if you did, you'll find your child's name on this list. Tonight at 7 pm local time I will light a candle for the light my sweet Clementine brought into my world and for all of our kiddos that are gone too soon. Sending lots of love to all of us in this stupid club.

My son is now 6 months an angel and I miss him every day. But that is not the purpose of my post. Before I lost him, it seemed I only knew a few people who lost their little ones.

Yet in the past 2 months, four old friends have lost children. 4. Granted, these were people I haven't seen in years, but it's so odd and heartbreaking to open social media and see these other heartbreaking stories.

Part of me wonders if I'm cursed, or now if I'm just aware of all the painful loss out there. I'm getting a lot of practice in compassion. I've done some of my share of reaching out.

He was three weeks short of his twentieth birthday. He was a good kid. I found out at the memorial from his female high school classmates how much he stood up for others who needed it. I see things about women being assaulted in college, and I keep thinking that he would have been one of the good ones, someone who would have done his best to make sure women around him were safe. It's not fair these other guys are still alive and doing whatever the hell they want and my son is dead. He just wanted to make the world a better place, and was working towards that.

Instead of him being a college student, his college money is funding a scholarship in his name. So other people's children will have help going to college. My son got one semester before the cancer came back.

I work in a high school. I hate it now. I don't like being around other people's teenagers anymore.

Its the small things that just get to you about one of your kids dying. My oldest daughter (17) will work down and the local church and get paid for it. When she does she likes to buy a box of premade ice-cream cones for the family on occasion. The ones that we dont ever buy because they're more expensive. They come in a 8 pack. Whenever we buy ice cream, we buy a tub of it because with 6 kids (now 5 living, 1 passed away, but still have 6 kids) its cheaper that way than those premade cones. The boxes were always the perfect size that each person got 1. Now there's one extra. So we told our 11 year old (shes now the youngest thats alive) that she got a extra one and she was confused because she knew she never got 2 before. When we explained that she's basically got our 8 year old daughters ice cream cone now too, I felt so bad, you could just see the heartbreaking realization on her face. She was best friends with her younger sister. They did everything together. But she just kind of shrunk down into herself and her face dropped and she wasn't smiling anymore. That alone broke my heart and made me want to cry. It honestly wouldn't surprise me if she refuses to eat that ice cream cone and if she doesn't, I know noone else will either and itll just sit there in the freezer never getting eaten. I already have to try and get my 11 year old new fall clothes because her and her sister wore the same size and they shared clothes. Now she absolutely refuses to wear anything that her sister liked to wear. It makes things so much harder trying to deal with my daughters death while having to watch my other kids try to handle things and learn to live with it and theres absolutely NOTHING that I can do to make things better for them. They will have to live with this for the rest of their lives just like I will. My son especially (18) has a hard time with it because he was in the back seat with her when my husband rushed her to the hospital and she collapsed and basically died in his arms. She collapsed just as they pulled into the hospital and they worked on her for almost an hour trying to get her back and she never did. That's why I say he was holding her when she passed away. But stuff is still fairly recent for us and the family is still getting used to this new normal. She passed on July 30th of this year. ❤️🩷Mya baby we will always love you and we miss you so much.❤️🩷

Hi, I was wondering how do you and your spouse grief, is you and your spouse grief the same or different? Me and my husband seem to grief quite differently.

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It been 7 years that our toddler gone, my husband still keep our toddler room exactly as is, even our toddler dirty shoes and dirty clothes he still keep. The only difference is in the room is our toddler ashes now, instead of our toddler.

In the 7 years span since our toddler gone, we moved 2 times, one was due to his work, and one was when we bought a new house. We boxed up our stuff.

Both times we moved, as soon as we unboxing in our new home, my husband set a room for our toddler EXACTLY just like our toddler room back then in our old marital home. He put everything of our toddler back EXACTLY where as was. Our toddler dirty shoes still right where his bed was. His clothes, toys, bed, nightstands, everything still there exactly as was.

Basically he still recreate the room for our toddler in our new homes. 7 years long, BOTH times of our move, my husband STILL making a room for our son (whom deceased), especially even after moving in a brand new house.

That how he grief.

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I grief too but differently.

I grief our toddler death too, it been 7 years and  It been 7 years and I keep replaying the death of our toddler over and over in my mind, I was told it trauma looping and intrusive replaying, and it a common experience in grieving.

Like right now I post this thread, I am replaying the death of our toddler over and over again.

My husband is more physical than me for sure, he needs our child's ashes next to him, recreate our child room even with multiple moves to brand new homes, it physical. It express outward.

I on the other hand I replaying the death of our child over and over in my head over and over. I'm more tune inward than him. I express too but inward.

 I tend to rationalize things. I'm more of a Thinker, and he more of a Feeler/Feelings.

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One thing for sure my husband is more physical.

He needs our child's ashes next to him, recreate our child room even with multiple moves to brand new homes, it physical. It express outward. If that not physical then what is?

I rationalize things, I keep it in my heart. He on the other hand live it out, he has no problem with show his emotions. While I struggle, it not that I don't have emotions, it that I don't shows it outward.

It’s been a month since I’ve seen my sweet baby girl. I had her for 14 wonderful short years. She died unexpectedly.
The first couple of weeks are a blur and I don’t know how I even survived those days. I miss her beyond words, miss her so much it’s physically painful. The thing is I can’t cry anymore. I can’t bring myself to look at her pictures or talk about her. I feel so guilty for it. Am I in denial or just become numb from all the pain. I don’t want to pretend she never existed but I don’t know what to do. Has anyone experienced this.

I thank god for this group. Thank you all for the support.

UPDATE:

Thank you all kindly, for the comments you made, they meant a great deal to me.

I don't think I could have understood my father's life in quite the same way without this community.

I never had the opportunity to know him, but your experiences have helped me understand a great deal, how the loss of a child can shape a life in ways that are tragic, messy, regretable, and ultimately deeply human. And also that love is a profoundly real thing.

I wish you peace, and as many light hearted moments, as you all deserve.

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First, I sincerely hope my post isn't an intrusion. I understand that this community is primarily for parents who have lost children, and I haven't experienced that loss myself. I'm writing as the son of a father who did.

My sister, Debbie, died of meningitis in 1993. She was just sixteen years old.

She was ill in the morning. By the evening, she was dead.

I find that almost impossible to comprehend. That someone can wake up in the morning, with all the ordinary expectations of another day, another week, another year, and then, within a matter of hours, be gone forever.

My father's marriage subsequently broke down. I was born two years after Debbie's death, and I grew up largely without him. He died in 2013.

There is something about his experience that I find almost unbearably sad.

My father happened to look remarkably like Anthony Hopkins.

Recently, I was watching a film starring Hopkins. I had absolutely no idea that the film contained a scene about the loss of a child. I wasn't expecting it in the slightest.

And then, quite unexpectedly, Hopkins began speaking about losing his little girl. About how someone who was there one moment could suddenly, without warning, be gone forever.

I was completely overwhelmed. I broke down into an uncontrollable flood of tears. I simply couldn't stop crying.

It was as though, for a brief moment, I had been confronted with something of what my own father must have experienced.

I imagined Debbie, alive that morning in 1993. Sixteen years old. A whole life ahead of her. And then, by the evening, she was gone.

I thought of my father. Of the unimaginable transition between having a daughter and having lost one.

Sixteen years of loving someone. Watching her grow from a little girl into a young woman. Hearing her voice, recognising her footsteps, sharing conversations, laughter, ordinary afternoons, and all the countless little moments that constitute a life together.

Sixteen years in which she was simply there, a familiar and irreplaceable part of his world.

And then, in a single day. So terribly fast. Losing her.

A whole future disappeared with her.

I was born into a world in which that loss had already happened. I never knew Debbie. I never saw my father as he was before her death. I knew only the world that remained afterwards.

As I've grown older, I've found myself thinking less about what I lost through my father's absence, and more about what he must have endured. I wonder how he carried such unimaginable grief, how he found the strength to continue, and whether the dignity with which he bore that loss was itself a testament to his true and remarkable love for her. I wonder, too, whether there was ever a moment when the world felt whole to him again.

Sometimes I feel terribly cynical about life, about human nature, and about the suffering of this world contains. But when I think of my father and Debbie, I am reminded that love is real.

And although I never knew Debbie, I think about her remarkably often. I think about them both.

It sometimes seems strange to me that I can feel such profound sadness for someone I never met. But I do. She was my sister. I think of her not merely as someone who died before I was born, but as someone who lived, and whose life mattered enormously.

There is another aspect of Debbie's death that I find especially painful.

There is almost no record of her on the internet. Almost nothing to indicate that she ever existed.

I know, rationally, that this is understandable. She died in 1993, before the internet became part of everyday life. But emotionally, I find it almost intolerable.

Here was a human being. A little girl who grew up, who had thoughts, feelings, hopes, fears, a personality, a voice. Someone who was loved, who occupied an irreplaceable place in the lives of other people.

And now, more than thirty years later, the world seems almost entirely silent about her.

I hate that. I hate the thought that a person can exist, can be loved so profoundly, can mean absolutely everything to someone, and then leave so little trace in the world.

Of course, the absence of a record doesn't mean the absence of a life. But perhaps that is part of why I feel compelled to write about her.

My father and his family were Jehovah's Witnesses. Although my own beliefs have changed considerably, there is one aspect of his faith that brings me enormous consolation.

He died believing that death was temporary. That this world, with all its suffering, would pass away. That one day he would hold his little girl again.

I imagine him reunited with Debbie, the tender, sweet, beautiful sister I never knew. I imagine her happy to see him, perhaps riding on his motorcycle with him, and everything that was so terribly broken in this life somehow made whole again.

I cannot tell you how much I wish that were true.

Sometimes I find life almost impossible to reconcile with the suffering it contains. I wish there were some answer, some consolation, something that could make what happened to Debbie and my father less unbearably tragic.

I find myself hoping that there is something beyond this world, something beyond the apparent finality of death. I cannot know whether such a hope is justified. But there is something in me that desperately wants to believe that their story did not end with two separate deaths, twenty years apart.

That somehow, somewhere, my father might see his daughter again.

For someone I never knew, Debbie occupies a remarkable place in my thoughts. And for a father I knew so little of, I feel an enormous tenderness and sorrow.

I think of them both so often.

I wonder whether my father ever imagined that the son born after Debbie's death would grow up to think so much about her. That decades later, long after he himself was gone, someone would still be grieving, in his own way, for the little girl he lost.

I suppose I wanted to share this with people who might understand something about what my father experienced.

And perhaps to say that the love you have for your children, and the lives of the children themselves, can leave an imprint far beyond anything you might ever know.

Debbie was sixteen when she died. She never had the opportunity to grow older, to make a life for herself, or to see the world that came afterwards.

There may be almost nothing about her on the internet.

But she lived. She was loved. She was my father's daughter, and she was my sister.

And thirty-three years later, she still matters.

To me, she always will.

I know that I cannot begin to understand what so many of you here have endured, and I would never presume to. But I have an immense respect for you, for the love you carry for your children, and for the strength it takes to continue living with such a loss.

I sincerely wish each of you whatever peace and consolation you may be able to find.

16 years together, 14 years married. Sorry English is my third language.

Our toddler died in 2019. Our toddler died of Periventricular Heterotopia (PVNH). It is gene inherited (got it from me the mother the maternal side), congenital brain malformation.

My husband grief our toddler before our toddler even born. As we know our baby condition in my third trimester scan, we was told our baby would not live pass 2 years old. But my husband said whether it 2 days, 2 months or 2 years, he still wants our child.
We both agreed carried to term, despite we know the neurologists told us our baby will not live pass age 2

I remembered many nights I sit on the sofa watch TV, my husband sit next to me next to the table lamp and handsew baby bibs for our baby, and he cried while handsew.
The baby was still in my belly 3rd trimester. My husband already grief then as he knows our baby won't live pass 2 years old.

I gave birth, and during our toddler short life. At 4 months old he already have epileptic seizures, not just that but breathing difficulty.
He born February 2018, died August 2019, when he 1.5 years old.

As our child brain condition progress he had more and more seizures episodes, the whole 1.5 years of him alive we were in and out of he hospital with him.
......
At the hospital we told him he will get better and we take him home and he can eat alot of vanilla pudding, he nodded and even giggles (he loves vanilla pudding), that was the last time he he had conscious look at us his parents.
That night he went into a coma, and a week later he just stop breathing while in a coma, he was just 1.5 years old.

I do not know if a toddler while in a coma can still dream, he probably had a sweet dream of go home to his bed and eat all the vanilla pudding he wants, he sick the whole time of his life he didn't eat much but he loves pudding.

I never see my husband in so much pain. I know my husband heart died that day with our child 7 years ago (that same year his father died too of end stage pancreas cancer).

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It like anything of our child trigger my husband, something simple as Vanilla pudding trigger my husband.
When our toddler was alive, our toddler really like the cold vanilla pudding, he often sick and in and out of hospital, but whenever he eat those vanilla pudding, he has this giggles laughters so so cute and loud that it light up the whole room.

Last time at dinner table, and I actually was eating that vanilla pudding so I put a spoon in my husband mouth. And just something small like that but it remind him of our toddler. My husband literally break down cry right there, he bawled. I don't mean just tear up, full on cry, bawling.

It been 7 years and my that our toddler gone, my husband still keep our toddler room exactly as is, even our toddler dirty shoes and dirty clothes he still keep. The only difference is in the room is our toddler ashes now, instead of our toddler.

In the 7 years span since our toddler gone, we moved 2 times, one was due to his work, and one was when we bought a new house. We boxed up our stuff.

Both times we moved, as soon as we unboxing in our new home, my husband set a room for our toddler EXACTLY just like our toddler room back then in our old marital home. He put everything of our toddler back EXACTLY where as was. Our toddler dirty shoes still right where his bed was. His clothes, toys, bed, nightstands, everything still there exactly as was.

Basically he still remake the room for our toddler in our new homes. 7 years long, BOTH times of our move, my husband STILL making a room for our son (whom deceased), especially even after moving in a brand new house. Perhaps he stuck in the loop of grief?

Is he stuck in grief? We talking about move into a new homes, but he still unbox and remake the room for our toddler, with our toddler ashes in the room, and everything still setup as when our toddler was still alive.

That's not a room, that's a tomb.!

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And I post this as a vent, not asking for advice.

I am actually happy that my husband recreate our child room. No where in my post I ever say I was not happy. And I am happy to have a man who show alot of emotions, and love for our dead child.

We as mom and dad will grieve our toddler death till the day we die, we happily chose that.

I take the too much emotions husband of mine, than a man who show no emotions.

I grief too, it been 7 years and  It been 7 years and I keep replaying the death of our toddler over and over in my mind, I was told it trauma looping and intrusive replaying, and it a common experience in grieving.

Like right now I post this thread, I am replaying the death of our toddler over and over again.

My husband is more physical than me for sure, he needs our child's ashes next to him, recreate our child room even with multiple moves to brand new homes, it physical. It express outward.

I on the other hand I replaying the death of our child over and over in my head over and over. I'm more tune inward than him. I express too but inward.

It's been almost 2 weeks since my child passed away. Friends and family have been very generous and supportive, it's almost overwhelming.

I was raised to always write thank you cards for gifts, but I am having a hard time mustering the mental energy to do that this time around. Is it okay, or is anyone going to notice, if I don't express my gratitude to everyone?

A friend of mine is coming up on the 10 year anniversary of loosing her daughter at age 3. I have been friends with her for about 2 years so I was not there at the time. How can I be supportive to her? I was thinking of getting her a nice necklace or something with her daughter’s birthstone but wasn’t sure if that was appropriate. Any thoughts would be appreciated.

Charles O’Donnell, author

The only way out…is through?

I found my son in his final resting place. Four years gone. He’s still here with me every day. I just wasted the time I had with him. I was a drunk and then recovered, wasting so much of his life in the process. I don’t know his friends. Too concerned with the unimportant to spend the important time with him. I told him he could count on me, but he couldn’t. I let him down and now he’s gone. No chance to make it right. I could have spent the time but was too concerned with me. He looked up to me so. For such a short time a man. 14, but wise beyond years. He taught me everything I didn’t know, but I couldn’t see it clearly until it was way too late to share. I still yearn for a chance to spend a day with him in the knowledge that he imparted. But he had to die for me to see it. Now I bear this guilty gift. The freedom he gave to me. To know that time together is all that matters. I saw it clearly in his missing eyes. Everything else is just so trivial. It just blocks our path to each other.

I miss you so much my son. I hope there’s another life and you are happy.

I’m only nine months post unexpectedly losing my 18 month old daughter… I’m also pregnant with her little sister . It is so hard for me to connect with anyone around me these days mostly do to me just not even viewing the world the same anymore.

Life used to feel like I had a cushy invisible shield around me. Like nothing super bad would ever happened to me.. especially because I consider myself a spiritual person and have a close relationship with God . I get a bit annoyed, listening to friends and family have complaints about things that are easily fixable. And I know that’s not fair because we all complain sometimes.

It’s weird because part of me feels this immense dread from knowing I have to live the rest of my life with this pain on me, but then another part of me has this strange extremely optimistic approach to the future, I feel invincible because I’ve lived through arguably the hardest thing a person can go through. I want to live my life to the fullest for the rest of my life. I don’t want fear to stop me from achieving anything. I want to finally live without boundaries, irrational fears, or caring about what others think. It’s all in honor of my daughter who didn’t get the opportunity to live her life to the fullest. 😢

But mostly like I said, I just feel like I’m not really able to connect with anyone. I feel shellshocked like I’ve been through a war and that no one could possibly understand unless they have gone through it first hand. I didn’t have many friends as it is, but I know that isolation isn’t good long-term, so in the future, I would like to step out and find some other Mom friends.

I don’t know this whole process is just so crazy. I can’t even believe any human being has to go through this. This sucks so bad.

I’ve been having some really vivid dreams about my daughter since losing her, and I honestly don’t know what to make of them.

In some of my dreams, I’m crying uncontrollably for my daughter, and I see Jesus just standing there, looking at me. In other dreams, I see my daughter playing with me, and then somehow I lose her again. I’m crying so hard in the dream that when I wake up, it almost feels like it actually happened.

The strange part is, I’m not Christian and I’ve never followed Christ. I do, however, have enormous respect for Jesus and what he represents.

Since losing my daughter, I’ve also struggled deeply with my faith in God. There are days when I honestly feel like I’ve lost my faith completely. I’m angry with God, and sometimes I even think that whenever it’s my time to leave this life and I meet God on the other side, I’m going to have a lot to say to Him. I feel like I want to fight with Him and ask Him why He allowed this to happen.

But these dreams make me wonder.

Has anyone else here experienced vivid dreams like this? Dreams where you see your child, talk to them, hold them, or somehow feel like they are still with you? Did you ever have dreams involving religious figures or something that made you question whether there was a deeper meaning to it?

I’m not necessarily looking for a religious answer. I’m just trying to understand what other grieving parents have experienced, because sometimes these dreams feel so incredibly real.

A week after we lost our 7-yr-old unexpectedly, my SIL posted about it on facebook. She only ever saw my child 2-3 times a year, never really hung out with them, wasn't very close. But then she posted this big emotional paragraph about it. And I feel like she's just using my dead child to get attention. (A little context: she's often the type to do or post or say things simply for a bit of drama or attention; not really in a mean/rude/malicious way, but more in an emotionally insecure way). Anyway, now all these people I don't even know are commenting to her, "We're so sorry for your loss! We'll be praying for you and [your daughter]!"

I hate it.

That is all. Thank you for letting me vent.

Today at 9am, my daughter will have her funeral. It’s been a little over 2 weeks since she passed and I have been through every emotion possible. Today, I feel like I’m back at square one. Every little reminder of her is so painful I don’t think I can survive it. I don’t see how to get through this. At times I just can’t to scream, other times I almost collapse from the grief. How do I survive this for the sake of my other children.