When Grief Returns: Holding Old Loss and New Sorrow with Faith
January has always carried a particular weight for me.
Ten years ago, in this same week, we lost our first son, Abraham. Even now, my body remembers before my mind does. The quiet ache. The tenderness. The subtle slowing down that arrives every year right on time.
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18
This year, grief arrived in a new way. We lost my mother-in-law almost ten years to the day that we lost our son. The timing felt surreal—as if grief circled back and gently but firmly reminded me that love and loss remain intertwined across seasons.
So here I am, holding grief that has lived with me for a decade, while also re-remembering the earliest days of grief—the shock, the sharp awareness, the moment you realize someone who has been a constant presence is suddenly gone.
That feeling is familiar. And it took me straight back ten years.
The Shape-Shifting Nature of Grief
Grief is complicated. It shape-shifts.
What once felt unbearable may soften with time, becoming something quieter and more manageable—until new loss awakens it again in ways you didn’t expect. Old grief doesn’t disappear. It integrates. And sometimes, it resurfaces when our hearts are already tender.
Sitting with ten-year-old grief while watching my husband carry brand-new grief feels strange and deeply human. It reminds me that grief is not linear, and healing is not the same as forgetting.
“Jesus wept.”
— John 11:35
Even Jesus, knowing resurrection was coming, allowed Himself to grieve. That alone tells us something sacred: grief is not a lack of faith. It is an expression of love.
More Than One Loss: What Grief Really Takes From Us
When someone dies, we don’t just lose a person.
We lose routines.
We lose roles and identities.
We lose shared purpose and connection.
We lose the version of ourselves that existed in relationship with them.
Grief unravels the familiar structure of life, and we are left relearning how to be ourselves in a world that now looks different.
“To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:1
Some seasons end without our consent. And still, God meets us there—not to rush us forward, but to walk with us through the unmaking and the becoming.
The Complicated Feelings We Rarely Say Out Loud
There are parts of grief that often stay hidden—feelings that can bring guilt or confusion if we don’t name them.
Relief.
Relief for the one who was suffering.
Relief for the caretaker whose body and heart have carried so much.
These feelings can coexist with deep sadness and longing. They do not cancel love. They do not dishonor the one we lost. They simply tell the truth about the cost of suffering and the limits of the human body.
God can hold all of it.
“Pour out your hearts before Him; God is a refuge for us.”
— Psalm 62:8
Anchored in What is Eternal
What anchors me in this season is not certainty, but trust.
God is still good.
He is still merciful.
And He is not absent in our sorrow.
I trust that He will use this grief—old and new—to shape us with compassion, humility, and tenderness. To help us walk with others through their grief stories. To model how to rest in His quiet presence when words fall short and strength feels thin.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.”
— 2 Corinthians 12:9
Grief has a way of stripping us down to what matters most—and often, what remains is God Himself.
Grief as a Kind of Rebirth
In a strange and sacred way, grief also feels like a rebirth.
Not because we wanted it.
Not because it feels good.
But because love does not disappear—it changes us.
Grief opens a new chapter we did not choose, yet must now live into. A chapter marked by deeper longing for eternity, stronger hope beyond this life, and a growing awareness that heaven feels closer than it once did.
We now have another loved one there. Another reminder that this world is not our final home.
“He has set eternity in the human heart.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:11
This chapter looks different than the ones before. And somehow, it is also forming new strength, deeper faith, and a quieter kind of courage.
For Those Carrying Grief Today
This week has been heavy. And sacred.
If you are carrying grief—fresh or familiar—please hear this:
You are not doing it wrong.
You are not behind.
And you are not alone.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
— Matthew 5:4
May God meet you gently in your sorrow.
May His presence feel near when words feel far away.
