The Ways God Held Me After Losing My Son

Finding His presence in the middle of the hardest things

After losing Mason, there were moments I truly did not know how I was going to make it through. Not the big-picture future. Just the next thing.

The next hour. The next conversation. The next unbearable moment.

Leaving the hospital without my baby. Seeing my husband grieve. Returning to work the week I should have been starting maternity leave. Facing Mason’s due date. My first Mother’s Day...

...there were so many moments that felt impossible before they arrived.

And yet, somehow, we were carried through them.

Not because they weren’t devastating. Not because we were strong enough.

But because God was holding us in ways we often didn’t notice until later.

One of the verses I have clung to most since losing Mason is Isaiah 43:1–2:

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;I have called you by name; you are Mine.When you pass through the waters, I will be with you…”

Not if you pass through deep waters. When.

God never promises a life untouched by grief. But He does promise His presence in the middle of it.

And I think one of the ways He most often fulfills that promise is through people and tangible comforts.

• Through a husband who cries and prays beside you.

• Through family members who refuse to leave the hospital room because they know your heart cannot bear one more goodbye.

• Through a stuffed monkey found in a hospital gift shop that somehow becomes a sacred comfort to empty arms.

• Through worship songs that hold words when your own prayers feel too exhausted to form.

• Through friends who text at the exact moment you are unraveling.

• Coworkers who quietly step in when you need a moment to breathe.

• A mom who walks into work beside you on your first day back because she doesn't want you to go through it alone.

• Through meals. Candles. Flowers. Small gifts. Unexpected laughter.

These things may seem small to the outside world. But when you are grieving, they feel like someone gently taking hold of your hand in the dark.

Another verse that has deeply comforted me is Isaiah 41:13:

“For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.”

I used to imagine God’s comfort mostly as something spiritual and invisible. But after loss, I have begun to realize how often His care arrives through physical things: through people, presence, kindness, touch, and tangible reminders that we are not abandoned.

Sometimes His provision looked like:

• someone sitting silently beside us

• a worship song playing at the right moment

• a snowstorm outside the hospital window that somehow matched the ache in our hearts

• a small surprise waiting for me every day during my first week back at work

• family gathering around “Mason’s tree” on his due date so the day did not feel empty and unbearable

None of those things erased the grief. But they reminded us: God was still here.

I think sometimes, in grief, we are so desperate for God to remove the pain that we accidentally miss the quieter ways He is carrying us through it.

Not taking us around the valley. But walking beside us in it. Holding our right hand. Sending people to steady us when our knees feel weak. Providing comforts that feel almost too personal to be coincidence.

Looking back, I can see so many places where God held us before we even knew we needed holding. And I wonder how many grieving people around us are being held too—through tiny kindnesses, faithful friends, gentle reminders, and ordinary moments carrying extraordinary grace.

If you are walking through loss today, we hope you know this: God’s presence does not always arrive loudly.

Sometimes it looks like: a text message, a meal, a song, a hand to hold, a friend who stays, or even a stuffed monkey wrapped in hospital blankets.

Sometimes His love looks very tangible. And if we slow down enough to notice, we may begin to see: He has been holding us all along.