The Grief of a Grandma

After the hardest loss of my life, of not only my first granddaughter, but my only daughter’s first baby, I have been learning how to live under a storm that won’t relent. To say the loss was devastating is the largest understatement of my life.

Losing a child is the deepest wound a mother can survive. It is straight through the heart and soul and bleeds heavily; it leaves a gash that I am realizing will never heal. The scar will remain, and although it may not be as noticeable to others, sometimes it is all a mom can see when she looks in the mirror. 

As we know, a scar never leaves us; it simply becomes a part of who we are. It changes how we look, how we feel about ourselves, and our physical makeup. Grief is its own kind of scar.

The tears that flow over the loss of a child are salty and never-ending. These tears are washing down my face as I type this. They come from an endless reservoir of pain; unfortunately, they never wash it all away. Even though the tears flow with the persistence of a river that carves stone. Maybe in years the rough edges will soften.

Watching my daughter go through the trauma of losing a baby after seven days of life and eight months of fear, worry, and bad news has been the hardest journey of my life.  The road is rocky, treacherous, scary, and nearly impossible to navigate.

I have come to realize that neither taking the pain from my daughter nor watching my precious granddaughter grow up will ever be an option; all I can do is ask God to guide us through this valley and hold on to the hope that we will sit by still waters again someday.

There is no map, although many have gone before; each of our trails are different. Different weather, different circumstances, and different turns. Although helpful, we still have to find our own way through the valley. It is good to know it is survivable.

Most times, I have no words for myself, my daughter, or her husband. There aren’t any words that match the feelings. Sometimes the feelings resemble someone pushing down on my chest and restricting my breathing. 

Other times, a memory or a circumstance brings instant tears and a crushing reminder of what will never change. Coming to terms with such a loss isn’t an option. It is a matter of living with it…sometimes one hour at a time.

I can say with one hundred percent certainty that this journey is not survivable without my faith. Even though it is impossible to understand, and although I continue to try every day, I realize I never will.

One thing is for sure; I have never been to the place of surrender to God than I am currently in. Every hour of every day, I hand it all back to God in a desperate attempt to let it go. I am working toward a time when I won’t take it back with such determination to wrestle it down. Without His endless grace and love, I would have no hope at all.

There is no sugar coating the anger I have had, but with that comes a deeper understanding of the fear of the Lord. Straight up fear, with no other options.

For now, I remind myself that I will get to hold my beautiful granddaughter again when I get to Heaven, and more importantly, see her Momma and Daddy embrace her again. Until that day, I cling to God’s promises, for that is all I know to do.

In memory of Violet Mary Diane Marx. July 7, 2025-July 13, 2025.

Read the previous blog posts about our story:

The Miracle

Seven Days of Life