Holding Joy for Others While Mourning What Will Never Be
Some days, grief whispers.
Other days, it taps you on the shoulder with a memory, a milestone, or a moment you never saw coming.
And sometimes—like today—it shows up in the warmth of someone else’s joy.
A wedding photo.
A smiling couple.
A reminder of how time keeps unfolding… even when yours split into “before” and “after.”
This post is one of those honest reflections—the kind that rises up unexpectedly and demands to be written.
Today I saw wedding photos of an old friend’s son and his new wife—bright smiles, glowing faces, the kind of joy that radiates right through the screen. That pure, hopeful kind of love that feels like the start of “forever.”
And my first thought wasn’t grief at all.
It was,
“No way. He can’t be 18 already.”
Because somewhere in my mind, all the kids stay the ages they were when life still felt simple. When all of us were young parents watching our children play together, imagining futures that felt guaranteed.
But then—as always—came the quiet ache behind the joy.
The reminder that my son should be growing right alongside them.
He should be finding his own person, building his own dreams, and reaching his own milestones.
And even when you’re genuinely happy for someone else, that sting is still there, sharp and immediate. 💔
It surprises you every time.
💍 The Beauty of Their Joy… and the Ache of What’s Missing
I’m a romantic at heart—I always have been.
Weddings fill me with hope. I love seeing people find their person, build a life, start a story. I love to hear the stories just as much!
But loss changes the way those moments feel.
You can celebrate wholeheartedly for someone else and still have a silent heartbreak tucked inside your chest. Both truths can exist in the same breath.
It doesn’t mean we’re bitter.
It doesn’t mean we’re selfish.
It doesn’t mean we’re stuck.
It simply means we loved our child—and we still love them deeply, fiercely, endlessly.
🌱 The Milestones That Never Come
Grief has a strange way of sneaking up on you. Sometimes it’s predictable—holidays, anniversaries, birthdays. And sometimes it hits you out of nowhere, in the softness of a moment that should have been sweet.
Like today.
Because wedding photos remind me that time keeps moving.
Kids grow up.
Lives change.
Milestones happen.
And somewhere in all that movement, there’s a still place where a piece of my heart is frozen at the age my child was when he left.
Everyone else’s children get older…
while mine never will.
That’s the ache.
That’s the sting.
That’s the part you don’t “get over.”
🤍 Why This Doesn’t Make Us Broken
If you’ve ever felt that surge of joy for someone else… followed by the punch of your own loss… please hear this:
We are not wrong for feeling both.
We are not failing at healing.
We are not living in the past.
We are human.
Love doesn’t disappear because someone is gone.
Dreams for your child don’t vanish just because their story ended too soon.
Feeling that ache is proof of your love—not a weakness.
🕊️ When Grief and Love Coexist
Here is what I’m learning as time moves forward:
I can be thrilled for someone else…
and still mourn what will never be.
I can cheer for someone’s beautiful beginnings…
and still long for what was stolen from my child.
I can smile—truly, deeply—
and still feel the sting behind it.
This isn’t failure.
This is coexistence.
This is grief and love learning to share space in the same heart.
🌄 A Final Note to Those Who Understand This Pain
If you’ve been in this place—
celebrating someone’s milestone while privately grieving your own empty space—
please know that I’m standing with you.
And if today was one of those days where joy and sorrow tangled together in your chest…
I am sending you the gentlest love.
None of us walk this path alone.
So tonight, as I sit with the swirl of emotions—joy for someone else, longing for my child, and acceptance that both can exist—I want to leave you with this:
If milestones trigger something deep inside you, you’re not doing grief “wrong.”
If you feel pride for someone else’s child and pain for your own in the same heartbeat, you’re not broken.
You’re simply walking a path you never asked to walk.
And if today hurts, be gentle with yourself.
Love didn’t end.
Time didn’t erase it.
And these moments of ache?
They’re pieces of the bond that still exists—strong, sacred, and forever yours.
We’re learning to live with open, complex hearts.
And that, my friend, is its own kind of courage.
Love and Light,
~Mandy đź’ś
Want to go deeper in your feelings? Try this journaling prompt:
What is one milestone you’ve seen others reach lately that stirred something inside you?
Write about what part of that moment brought joy, what part brought ache, and what it revealed about how your love for your child continues.
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