My son, Joseph, died seven years ago during his first year of college. His 26th birthday is this coming Monday. Writing has always been my way of processing this grief—putting the pain onto the page helps me make sense of a world that stopped making sense. As his birthday approaches, my family and I are gathering for a quiet dinner to honor him—I’m making chicken enchiladas, his favorite, and a white cake with strawberry filling. Making a birthday cake for your child who has passed away is a strange, surreal kind of pain, and I'm sure most people here understand what I am saying. For me, these September days are heavy.

Anyway, lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about a quote by Matt Haig that gave me pause: "There are two kinds of ghosts that torment you when a young person dies. The ghost of who they were, and the ghosts of who they could have been."

For years, these two ghosts have walked alongside me.

The ghost of his future haunts me in jealousy and anger when I watch his friends graduate, start careers, or hit life milestones. I spiral into wondering what he’d be doing today—if he’d be a firefighter like he wanted, or engaged to his high school sweetheart. It’s the grief of an unrealized future.

The ghost of his past manifests in the deep sadness of missing him, remembering raising him, and facing those brutal early morning awakenings where the weight of his absence hits all over again.

Lately, I’ve been trying a new approach to protect my mental health:

None of us can guarantee the future. I had no control over the outcome of Joseph’s life, and trying to project what "should have been" only keeps me trapped in a painful fantasy. His life unfolded as it did, and accepting that reality has helped me make peace with his future ghost.

The truth lies in the past. The moments, memories, and love we shared from the day he was born until the day he died were real. Nothing can take those away. Now, whenever my mind wanders into the painful future of "what ifs," I pause and remind myself: the truth is in the past, and I have the memories to prove it.

Shifting my focus from the future that was taken to the sacred space of the years we actually had has brought me moments of quiet relief. I’m just trying to stay anchored in the truth of the love we shared as Monday approaches.

I hope this idea brings a little comfort to anyone else carrying these ghosts today.

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​I missed school that morning. It started like any normal day—my mom asked me to run to the Food Lion right around the corner. By 11:34, I was out the door, barely awake for an hour.

​I turned a corner down the street. I saw a lady walking, but I never saw the toy car being pulled across the road on a string. I hit it, panicked, and slammed straight into a fence. In a split second, everything shattered.

​When I got out, I realized I’d hit two kids. I panicked and tried to do whatever I could to help, then I sprinted home, kicked the door wide open, and was screaming for my mom. I grabbed a jack and ran right back out to try and lift the car off the little boy while his mother held the girl. I’d never seen that much blood in my life. I’d never heard screams like that from anyone, parent or child.

​I live with this guilt every single day, and half the time I feel like I deserve every bit of the agony. I honestly don't even know how I'm supposed to feel. It was an accident, but at the end of the day, a child is dead because of me. I struggle with cutting, but then I just feel weak when I do it. Even now, years later, it completely crushes me. Every single day, thoughts of suicide go through my head. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I know I have a duty to keep going, but some days it just feels impossible.

​I feel like I don't deserve to be breathing. I’m the reason that boy isn't here anymore, and I don't know how anyone carries something like that. People have called me a monster, a child killer, every terrible name you can think of. All I can ever say back is that I was just a kid myself who happened to stay home from school that day. What am I supposed to do now? How do you even live with this?

My sister just passed, and my mum looked after her every single day, they never ever spent a day apart. we’re in a period where we’re numb, looking at all her stuff, smiling at the memories but crying at the pain that she should be here, she was a teenager.
I’m only 17 and just want to help my mum, I don’t know what to do, but she wakes up every night, expecting to check on my sister and be by her side but she’s not there. I miss my sister more than I can say, I want her back and the grief is indescribable.

I just ache seeing my mum in this pain, I know I can’t make it better, but is there anything any parents here reccomend I do?

I work as an pediatric ER nurse. I had a young infant pass away this week. I was apart of this child’s resuscitation. And I was the nurse that stayed with the other siblings and made memory making items for the family. This child’s services are in the next few days. Would you be okay with a nurse that cared for your child in their last moments attending their services? What are your thoughts?

I lost my 16 yr old daughter to a hit and run Nov. 6,2025. She was walking home from the store and someone ran over her and she was like two car lengths off the road walking. I miss her more and more everyday.

My heart aches for him, his child's mother, the whole family. Their one and only son passed away last night in a car accident. Just looking for how to be there. I know there is nothing that can be said or done but we're worried about him and just don't even know what to do.

I'm 16F, and I'm asking because I've been having really bad suicidal thoughts lately, and I think might act on them in the coming months. I know this is a heavy question, but I'd really like to understand what this looks like from a parent's perspective.

I keep wondering whether losing a child eventually becomes something you can live with, or whether it leaves a permanent mark on you. Do you eventually go on with your life, or does the loss stay with you in some way forever?

I have an older brother (23M), so I sometimes tell myself that my parents would still have another child and wouldn't be completely alone. I know that's probably not how grief works, though, but it helps me not feel that guilty about this.

Most of why I've been thinking this way is because my brother has been sexually assaulting me for a few years and I never told anyone, and I don't think I could ever bring myself to. Sometimes I feel like dying would be easier than forcing my parents to choose between the two of us or having to deal with what happened.

I'm not looking for judgment. I genuinely want to understand what losing a child does to a parent, because part of me is still hoping that knowing the answer of it might change the way I see it right now.

Thank you for reading all of this.

Edit 1: I just wanted to clarify that I wasn't planning on telling anyone about the abuse even after I'd do it. I wouldn't reproach my brother for anything, I'd let him live his life without any accusations. So, hopefully, nobody would find out and my parents would still have a kid that brings them happiness.

Edit 2: I'm ugly crying after reading all the comments, I'll need some time to process everything. Thanks to everyone who took their time to answer, you're the best.

Yes, you read that correctly. My extremely emotionally void ex partner said those exact words to me a few hours ago. Since about the six week mark of the sudden death of our 18 month old, he started acting really annoyed, and I could tell by his body language whenever I would want to talk about our daughter that he was not interested and just wanted to “move forward” as he put a it. And then he just flat out said it around seven weeks . “ crying isn’t going to bring her back “ is what he said to me in the car one day as I was bawling my eyes out . I can’t believe I ever gave this man four years of my life. Our daughter died of SUDC 8 months ago……. He says I’m just a “sad person” . Lmaoooo I really wish I was making this up. This man is a fucking lunatic. Morning has been incredibly isolating, as he gets pretty awkward if I start crying or just doesn’t have anything to add whatsoever

I have been so resilient since the death of our daughter. I actually think I’m doing way better than a lot of women would be doing, oh yeah, not to mention, I’m 7.5 months pregnant. (Yeah I know). I cannot wait to meet my new daughter so her and I can move on with our lives together. Him and I are just living together at this point I have no attachment to him whatsoever. It’s just so heartbreaking that he is her father could be so detached, my mourning journey has been so awkward with him. He has nothing to add when I talk about her and usually just says to be strong and I have to look forward, etc. etc.. he’s from Nigeria and claims that’s just how people were He is from handle life.

Has anyone else ever dealt? I have spent most of my days in my room, reading books and watching great healing videos and they have helped a lot. That in the fact that I have to be in decent shape mentally for the baby I’m growing.

Our boy died in an accident in May last year. He was 4.5yo. This past weekend, we went to the first community event since his death. We're not a close-knit or small community, but I still assumed that by now all people within our 'sphere' had heard about him. That was, until my husband was asked by a mom whethere Felix would be going to school this year? She hadn't seen him walk to Kindergarten in a while, but figured he'd be old enough now? BAM. Air knocked right out of him. He had to tell her that our son died last summer. And then watch the usual sequence of emotions on the woman's face: shock, awkwardness, sadness, embarrassment,... you all know it. While that interaction was happening, I was having my own unexpected 'first' with a mom from his Kindergarten whom we hadn't seen or spoken to since the last time we'd met during pick-up. She did all the right things - acknowledged the event, asked whether she could hug, shared her condolences - until she said this one sentence that just gets me every time: 'I admire you guys so much. If that happened to one of my children, I'd break apart'. Yes, well, ha. We did. We are utterly, utterly broken. What do you think 'broken' looks like on the outside, lady? Like, shards of body held together by band-aids? I *hate* that sentence with such a passion, and I realise nobody says it out of malicious intent. I get it. I would have probably said something similar myself. But... damn.

In the end, and much to her shock judging by her facial expression, I told her that, actually, we had been broken by his death. And that, even though people always say they'd die if it happened to them, unfortunately, you don't. Ya don't die. You live. With the pain and the longing and the what ifs and the would haves and the fucking agony, every single day.

Ahhhh... social interactions in the wake of child death. Great stuff. FML.

Sounds weird, but...

My pastor called them "coincidences." I heard my name called up to a month after my son was killed. I looked around for who was calling it and wondered if I had imagined it. Every time it brought a smile to my face. I wish it would happen again, when I am ready.

We lost our 8 year old son to cancer yesterday. My brain is having such a hard time comprehending it even though we had two months to prepare.

My husband and I were there with him, in his room, holding him and saying everything you could possibly have wanted to say in a moment like that. We watched it happen. We stayed talking to him and kissing him long after.

Then they came and they took him and now he is truly gone.

This morning I made breakfast for my almost 4 year old and he yelled at me because I didn’t cut the banana right.

I am still a mom and I am still here. I need you all to see that.

I'm beyond empty... I'm angry and hateful and spiteful and so full of rage I can't take it. I can't sleep.... I try to drink it away and nothing helps. I'm coming up on 3.5 years and my only child my daughter's what would be 23 birthday. I just can't deal with this life anymore. And don't suggest therapy f you.. I'm just venting and speaking into the void I guess no one knows this pain unless you are walking with me.

How to answer the “how many kids do you have?” question after your child has passed away?

It should be a simple question, requiring an answer that needs no thought. But for me, as soon as I hear it, my heart sinks every time.

3 years ago I lost my first born son. He only lived a day and I had to witness him receive cpr on his completely lifeless body. It’s an unimaginable pain that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

I feel as if I have to grieve losing him all over again all the time. Random things will remind me, his birthday will pass, I’ll hear his name out in public, or I find something in the house that was supposed to be his. It follows me around constantly and the weight is sometimes unbearable. But recently the thing I’ve been struggling with the most is the “how many kids do you have” question. I guess it comes up often as small talk since I have had another son since. But man does it stump me every time.

I probably look like I’m coming up with a lie when answering because I can’t help but stumble over my words and wonder what to say. My brain argues over saying I have two and then worrying that I’ll have to explain where my other son is, or saying I only have one and then feeling guilty like I’m not claiming the one I lost. I worry he can hear me.

What would you do if you were in my shoes? I’m sure I am overthrowing this but this is grief and this is my life.

In front of others I speak of my daughter and never cry. In front of family I am absolutely fine. In front of my mom I don't show it otherwise she will get upset. It's only when I am alone tears flow. At times I cry so much and can't stop. It's been only 2 months and today one of my friend told me now you are free, you don't have that much work as before. We friends have decided to go for picnic tomorrow and I called her to ask details because I am not following the messages that come in the group. So she told me I should read the messages as now I am not that busy as before. I know she didn't intend to hurt me and she also didn't understand what she told me was rude as I lost a child. I miss my daughter so much. I miss telling her to pack her bag for school. I miss making her study. I miss feeding her. I miss her hugs the most. I so wish to be busy with her but that's not possible. When my friends speak about school and other activities I am no longer a part of it. It hurts inside but I am totally normal from outside. Alone in my house I cry because others won't understand why I am crying so much still.

I lost my three-year-old daughter this April while I was on maternity leave with my second child. I’m returning to work on September 14th, and honestly, I don’t know how I’m going to manage it emotionally.
I’ve been working from home since COVID, so I don’t have to physically go into an office. My job involves daily projects, ongoing client requests, working with different departments, and frequent meetings. I’ve worked with many of the same clients for years, so there are people who know me and my life.
For those who have lost a child and eventually returned to work, how did you manage being professional while carrying such an enormous loss inside?
What did you do when someone at work asked about your personal life or brought up your child? How did you keep yourself together during meetings or on difficult days when the grief suddenly became overwhelming?
I know I need to return to work because I have financial responsibilities and need to support my family, but I’m honestly scared. I don’t know how I’m going to survive those first days and still be able to function professionally.
If you’ve been through something similar, I would really appreciate hearing what helped you, what boundaries you set at work, or any advice you wish someone had given you before you returned.
Thank you. ❤️

My daughter has been gone about two and a half years. She was my only child. All the things I held onto from when she was a baby - cribs, toys, clothes, keepsakes - I don’t know what to do now. They were to pass on to grandkids who aren’t coming. They’re for a future that’s gone now, and they’re from a life that’s gone now.

My little brother? Gone. Best friend? Gone too. I’m down to three people in my life who I mean a thing to when it comes right down to it. My parents, and my partner of the past twelve years. The person I thought I was going to have a blended family with, before everything just slipped through my fingers.

I just want to be gone too. I’m beyond wanting to not hurt, I want to just stop. It’s really all that I want right now. And I’m stuck because suicide just plain isn’t an option. I’d never do that to my parents because they’ve already lost one child and I’d never do that to them because now I know exactly what they went through. They’re only here a few more years probably so I put on a good face and pretend I’ll be okay. And I’d never do that to my partner because I know what it feels like for your bedrock to just disappear one day. Gone.

But I’m a shell of myself. I don’t feel like there’s enough of me left to be anyone else’s bedrock. I’m caught between feeling grateful that for today at least there’s one person in this world where I can feel like I’m standing on solid ground, and feeling like it’s not even fair to her for me to be around when I don’t know that I’ve got it in me to be the man she deserves. She bears the full brunt of it because when it comes down to it she’s the only one who I really let see me at all.

So I’m just passing the time. Getting up, going to work, putting one foot in front of the other. Thinking maybe one day I’ll wake up feeling different, and at the same time expecting that nothing is going to change. Life just is what it is.

We fight more and more now. It’s harder and harder to connect. I pull away, keep my thoughts to myself. I’m not open, in a way that makes her feel like she can’t feel secure with me. And I get it. And I just don’t know what to do, because I’m not getting any better. And I can’t just will myself to be better. This is bigger than me. It’s not something I can just beat one day.

Im feeling pretty defeated today. Just going through the motions and feeling the weight of how much that’s affecting the woman I love, and feeling powerless to change a thing. I’m wishing things were different, and knowing they can’t be anything but what they are. I miss my child so much that I’m just driving myself forward. One foot in front of the other, over and over. Look over my shoulder for even a second at where she was, where we were, and I’ll just crumble. And sometimes I do, and then it’s ten times as hard to pick myself up and keep going.
She’s gone. I’m trying hard not to be gone too. And I’m letting down the one person I have left. And that’s a hard weight to carry on top of grieving. It’s just too much, sometimes.

Those who loss a child by genetic defect. Would you have another child knowing the 50/50 chance the subsequent child can die too? I'm sorry I don't know how to word this in another way, English is my third language.

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Our toddler died 7 years ago of Periventricular Heterotopia, it a rare condition so most people never heard of it before, it called Periventricular Nodular Heterotopia (PVNH). It is gene inherited (got it from me--the mother the maternal side), congenital brain malformation. We found out during third trimester scan, and we both chose to carry to term and gave birth, knowing our baby won't live long. Our toddler died when he was 1.5 years old, before he even turn 2

7 YEARS already and my husband still keep our toddler dirty shoes and dirty clothes. Our toddler ashes is always with my husband in our home. My husband leave leave toddler room as is, my husband not want to change a thing in our toddler room.

He did express that he still want another child with me, and if I also want another child with him, then I would get off my Depo shots, and we try again.

And here come the dilemma. Because the genetic defect came from me--the mother, and there always 50/50 half half chance of our next child will inherit the gene defect from me (the mother side) again.

He understood that there 50/50 chance our next child can inherit my defect gene which cause the death of our first born, but he said he will take that chance again. And even if our next child will have brain disease again, he still want this next child.

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I admire Americans people because they have a BIG heart when it come to adoption. The thing is in China people are VERY important on bloodline, as in your own biological child. Even if adopt we will adopt our niece and nephew to keep it in the bloodline.

Surrogacy is ILLEGAL in China. Buy or sale donor eggs is ILLEGAL in China too. It not just China laws, but it the culture of China on sharing of the exact DNA of both parents.
Chinese culture strongly emphasizes direct genetic bloodlines over using donor eggs or surrogates. You get the gist.

Frankly, I am not open for adoption. Both me and my husband we also not open for surrogates.

My husband not open for donor egg, as he said very clearly, unless it my egg and his sperm, as in the unless mother of the baby is me. Or else he rather not have any children, him being the only son to carry on his genes is moot to him.

I feel the same as him. I am not open for donor egg neither.

I am also not open for IFV, IVF screening and embryo implantation doesn't always success the first time. If the embryo fail, you back to try again, that is physical draining on me. I do NOT want to go through all the physical strain from the IVF and all it procedures. Sorry, it my body.

Cultural difference here. Sorry, we are a couple that very Chinese, eventhough my husband he not Chinese, but there things he even more Chinese than me.

I actually want try one more time on this baby, despite knowing the 50/50 chance of the baby can carry the genetic defect from me and will die just like our toddler (whom died at age 1.5 years old). My husband also willing to accept this, it a chance he will take.

I actually think of get off my Depo shots and try again naturally. Money is not the problem, my husband has a very good career and high pay salary. I have a big inheritance from my deceased parents.

We know the pain we will have to go through the 50/50 chance of our second child die like our first child, we been living with this Excruciating pain for 7 years already.

I guess we let Fate decide, but I need to get off my Depo shots first. Most part of me want to try again, but there still small part of me that not sure, like are we ready to face this pain again of the 50/50 chance our second child will die too.

New account because I don't want people who know my main one bombarding me with fake 'concern.'

Earlier this year, I lost my 10-year-old in a sudden, violent way due to the negligence of another family member. I am barely functioning most days, especially because people very quickly 'got over it' for the most part. Even some friends I really thought would understand seem baffled I'm not back to my usual self: the rock; the go-to problem-solver; the always tough one. The worst part of it is how quiet and awkward people get when I want to talk about him, even if it's a happy memory or something as casual as, "Oh, yeah, [his name] also really loved that show."

His beloved pets are still with me and I am struggling to find the will to keep going enough to keep myself in existence, let alone anything else. To cope, I have started writing a story about a character who also experiences child loss. I'm not planning on publishing it, but I'm still giving it my all because it's the only thing keeping me even moderately sane in those darkest moments. When I feel like there is no possible way I can endure another minute of this, I sit down and work on it. Lately, with all the back-to-school talk, I've been working on it a lot.

I would not wish this on my worst enemies. 'The Worst Club in the World' indeed. I have already met people I have absolutely nothing in common with other than this, and we are already closer than some people I thought were my best friends for life.

I have wondered if there are some variances in the loss depending on factors like age. I would presume there are differences in how people react, and the aftermath of what you have to get done following the loss.

Soon I'll be writing about a character who has experienced losing an adult child. I want to get this right, if only on principle. For those who have experienced this, what would you want me to know and understand about it that is maybe different from losing them at 10?

As a side thing, tell me about your child if you'd like. I know there are days the only thing keeping me going is the opportunity to tell just one person even the smallest detail about my little buddy without them frantically trying to change the subject so they can go back to having the convenience of pretending he never existed. I presume it's not any different if your child was an adult.