When I Can’t Fix It: Loving My Daughter Through Grief

One of the hardest truths of life is this:

You cannot fix the deepest pain of someone you love.

I’ve always been a fixer. I like solutions. I like answers. I like being able to make things better.

And when my daughter lost her precious baby Mason, I wanted more than anything to make it all go away for her—the pain, the shock, the grief, the emptiness. I wanted to erase the ache in her chest with a word, a prayer, a hug so perfect it would restore what was lost.

But I’ve learned something profound and hard: I can’t fix this for her.

That realization has been agonizing.

I watch her carry grief with strength and vulnerability that humbles me. I watch her husband carry sorrow and love intertwined in ways I can only try to understand. And I, who have loved her since the day she was born, want nothing more than to take her pain into my own body so she doesn't have to feel it anymore.

Learning What I Can Give: Prayer and Presence

I can pray.

When I pray for her, I pray the words of God back to Him:

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”— Psalm 34:18 (ESV)

I pray that God would be her refuge and strength,her ever-present help in trouble.

I pray Isaiah 43 over her heart:

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you…”— Isaiah 43:2 (ESV)

Because while I cannot go through the waters for her, I can trust the One who promises to carry her through.

I can be present.

A few weeks after Mason’s birth, my counselor shared a children’s book with me: The Rabbit Listened by Cori Doerrfeld.

If you haven’t read it, it’s a story about a child whose block tower collapses. Different animals come with different solutions: the bird tries to fix it, the bear tries to distract, the elephant tries to rebuild. But the one who helps most is a quiet rabbit who simply sits with the child and listens.

The gift isn’t in words. The gift isn’t in solutions.The gift is in presence.

Sometimes presence looks like sitting in silence.Sometimes it looks like simple words:“I’m here. I love you.” Sometimes it looks like watching a mindless TV show together or laughing about a goofy text from her sister.

So I pray for her and I aim to be present for her. And I remind myself that God loves her even more than I do.

-- Gwen, Mason's Nana