The Value of Community
May 1, 2026 — Carol Brown
I had the privilege and the joy of taking part in the Our Hearts Are Home conference a couple of weeks ago. Strong bonds are formed at these gatherings among parents who understand the complexities of child loss because they are experiencing them first hand.
When we have the opportunity to share our stories and speak our children’s names there is a relief and a release that’s difficult to put into words. Parents arrive, apprehensive, because they have no idea what to expect, but leave encouraged and uplifted because they’ve been truly seen and understood. During the weekend, they have opportunities to hear from parents who are further along on their journeys who share insights they’ve gained. Meals are taken around the table where strangers become friends, and as incongruous as it may sound, laughter can be heard. This is the value of being a part of the child loss community.
When I lost my daughter in 1996, there were very few resources to which I could turn that would help me find my way through the grief. There was no internet or social media that could host bereaved parent groups, and Griefshare had not yet been written. I didn’t even know anyone who had lost a child, so I turned to books written by those touched by child loss. Those authors became my “friends”, my community, and I spent more time with them than I did with the actual people in my life at the time.
Many years later I learned of While We’re Waiting, a ministry formed to reach out specifically to bereaved parents. My involvement with that group eventually led me to Our Hearts Are Home and opportunities to connect with other grieving moms and dads. I soon became aware of just how common it is for parents to outlive their children, and of the comfort received when we discover that we are not alone.
I am a natural introvert, so to say I’m not entirely at ease outside my comfort zone is an understatement. But as I become more proactive in encouraging people I’ve never met before to tell me their stories, I discover that a natural bond and kinship quickly develops between us. That’s the beauty of community. The grief we have in common overshadows any differences we may have.
Of course as believers in Christ, there are other communities we should not neglect, even though our participation in them may look different post child loss. Going back to church is sometimes a challenge, especially if there are reminders of your child there. People can unintentionally hurt us by either saying the wrong thing or avoiding us altogether. Church staff may not be as attentive as they could be, and worst of all, everyone seems to be going on with life as if nothing had happened to us. We may feel neglected or shunned, and the place where we once felt we belonged seems totally foreign to us now. Some parents find that they can no longer attend their home church and seek fellowship elsewhere. Some go back to the familiar, but do not participate as they once did. Some never return. But the church is full of wounded people in need of encouragement, and we who have been profoundly wounded ourselves are in a unique position to provide a listening ear and a heart of understanding, even if our grief is not the same.
Our Hearts Are Home is not meant to replace the church, but as a ministry, it offers opportunities for grieving parents to connect with others and to grow spiritually through various book studies and gatherings throughout the year. There is even an online session of GriefShare that is geared specifically for child loss. You can find a complete listing of online and in person events as well as how to register here: ourheartsarehome.org/what-we-do
The loneliness of grief after the death of a precious child can be overwhelming, but through the advances in modern technology, we can reach out to other parents all over the world. My heart is filled with gratitude that no parent has to walk this most difficult of journeys alone.
