Christian Grief

Painting of a woman watching birds beside a mountain-view window, with the quote “grief has a strange way of making us question things we thought we had already settled.” attributed to Author, Lori Domingo.

When Grief Makes Us Question Ourselves

It’s raining here in the mountains today. Not a hard rain, just the kind that makes you want to stay inside, slow down, and watch the world outside the window.

And that’s pretty much what I’ve been doing.

I’ve spent a good part of the day watching the birds come and go from the feeders and the squirrels and chipmunks busily preparing for the winter ahead. Across from me, the mountain is just beginning to show hints of fall color.

At first, I was simply thinking about how beautiful it all is.

But then my thoughts went somewhere deeper.

Impressionist painting of birds at an autumn feeder overlooking misty mountains, with the quote “Our Father knows what we need. He sees us. He cares for us.” attributed to Author Lori Domingo.If God Takes Care of the Birds

Watching the birds reminded me of Jesus’ words in Matthew 6.

“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”

— Matthew 6:26

Jesus goes on to talk about the lilies of the field and how beautifully God clothes them. His point is simple, even though living it out isn’t always simple at all: Our Father knows what we need. He sees us. He cares for us.

I believe that.

But sitting here today, I realized there are some things surrounding my dad’s death that I may not have completely worked through yet.

One of them is guilt.

Grief and Guilt After Losing a Parent: Did I Do Enough?

I moved in with Dad twelve years ago, shortly after my mom passed away. For most of those years, he was active, independent, and always on the go. But as he got older, things gradually changed.

He started wanting me to go with him to doctor’s appointments. When his doctor told him he was pre-diabetic, I changed the way I prepared our meals. When he wanted to come to the mountains to visit my sister, I drove because he no longer felt comfortable making long trips on his own.

None of that ever felt like a burden to me.

It was simply what I was there to do.

I wanted to help take care of him as he got older. Maybe that’s part of why losing him has been so difficult to process.

When COVID came along, one of my greatest fears was that I would catch it somewhere, bring it home to Dad, and he wouldn’t survive it. That fear caused me more anxiety than I care to admit.

During that time, I practically camped out in the book of Isaiah, holding onto every reminder I could find that God was with me.

And we made it through.

Years later, though, Dad got the flu. Then came pneumonia, sepsis, and eventually his passing.

During those last weeks, I did everything I knew to do to help him get better, even while I was recovering from the flu myself.

But he didn’t get better.

And today, sitting here watching the rain, I found myself wondering:

  • Did I miss something?
  • Could I have done something differently?
  • Should I have noticed something sooner?
  • Was there something I should have done, or something I shouldn’t have done?

I know in my heart that there was nothing I could have done to change God’s appointed time for Dad.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die.”

— Ecclesiastes 3:1–2

I believe that.

But grief has a strange way of making us question things we thought we had already settled.

The Guilt I Didn’t Realize I Was Carrying

Maybe what surfaced today is something I haven’t wanted to admit.

I think part of me feels guilty because I survived and Dad didn’t.

We were both sick. I was trying to recover while taking care of him, and somehow God gave me enough strength to keep going and do what needed to be done.

Looking back now, I can see God’s hand in that.

He was taking care of me even while I was trying to take care of Dad.

Maybe I need to stop looking at my survival as something to feel guilty about and begin seeing it as another way God carried me through those terrible weeks.

That doesn’t answer every question.

It doesn’t make me miss Dad less.

But maybe it changes the question from “Why did I survive when he didn’t?” to “Lord, what do You want me to do with the life You’ve given me?”

When Being Strong Turns Into Isolation

There is something else I’ve had to admit to myself.

I’ve been isolating.

It’s something I tend to do when life becomes overwhelming. When I feel like I have to be the strong one, I pull back. I keep things inside and convince myself I can work through everything on my own.

Experience has already taught me that this doesn’t work very well.

Apparently, I’m still learning the lesson.

Dad wouldn’t want me to live this way. I know that.

And more importantly, I don’t believe God wants me to stay hidden away inside my grief either.

There is a difference between needing solitude and shutting everyone out.

Maybe part of healing is learning to recognize the difference.

For me, that might mean:

  • Allowing someone else to know when I’m having a difficult day.
  • Accepting that I don’t always have to be the strong one.
  • Getting out of the house even when staying home feels easier.
  • Letting myself enjoy something without feeling guilty for enjoying it.
  • Remembering that moving forward doesn’t mean leaving Dad behind.
  • Continuing to talk honestly with God, even when He feels far away.

Trusting God When He Feels Far Away

That last one may be the hardest right now.

I still talk to God. I haven’t stopped believing in Him. I haven’t stopped trusting Him.

But He feels far away.

And somewhere deep inside, I know He hasn’t moved.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

— Psalm 34:18

Maybe God’s closeness isn’t always something we feel.

Sometimes faith means believing He is near when every emotion tells us otherwise.

Impressionist painting of a woman walking along an autumn mountain path, with the quote “Sometimes faith means believing He is near when every emotion tells us otherwise.” attributed to Author Lori Domingo.
“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.”

— Isaiah 43:2

It doesn’t say if we pass through the waters. And it doesn’t promise that the waters won’t be deep.

It simply promises that we won’t go through them alone.

I held onto promises like that during COVID because I was terrified of losing Dad.

Now I need to hold onto them again because I did lose him.

When Grief Makes Me Fight Myself

I’ve reminded myself many times that I am a victor, not a victim.

“If God is for us, who can be against us?”

— Romans 8:31

But today another question came to mind:

What happens when it feels like the person I’m fighting is myself?

What happens when guilt whispers that I should have done more?

When grief tells me to withdraw?

When my own thoughts keep dragging me backward into questions that don’t have answers?

Maybe that’s when I need God’s truth the most.

Not because I’m failing in my faith, but because grief is heavy, and sometimes I need to be reminded that I was never expected to carry it alone.

There are things I couldn’t control.

There are things I couldn’t fix.

And there are things I may never completely understand this side of heaven.

But I loved my dad.

I showed up.

I cared for him.

And when the time came when I couldn’t make him better, I was still there.

Maybe I need to allow that to be enough.

Moving Forward Through Grief, One Small Step at a Time

The rain is still falling.

The birds are still coming to the feeders. The squirrels are still running around gathering whatever they think they’ll need for winter. The leaves on the mountain will continue changing whether I sit here watching them or not.

Life keeps moving.

Maybe God is gently reminding me that I can, too.

Not by forgetting.

Not by pretending the last nine months haven’t changed me.

And certainly not by rushing grief because I think I should be “better” by now.

But one small step at a time.

The same Father who sees every bird outside my window sees me sitting here watching them.

He knows what I’ve lost.

He knows the questions I haven’t spoken aloud.

He knows the guilt I’m only beginning to recognize.

And He knows how to lead me from here.

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”

— 1 Peter 5:7

Maybe today, that’s enough.

Maybe I don’t have to figure out how to get myself all the way back to where I was before Dad died.

Maybe God isn’t asking me to go backward at all.

Maybe He’s asking me to trust Him with who I am now, and let Him walk with me into whatever comes next.

Impressionist painting of a father and daughter holding hands at a kitchen table, with the quote “Maybe God isn’t asking me to go backward at all.” attributed to Author Lori Domingo.

Keep Reading and Join the Conversation

If this reflection spoke to your heart, explore more Christian inspirational books by author Lori Domingo for encouragement in your own journey.

What has helped you take one small step forward through grief? Visit Lori Domingo’s Facebook page to share your thoughts, encourage others, and keep the conversation going.

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Illustrated woman walking alone on a mountain trail at sunrise with a Lori Domingo quote about grief and having time to truly feel it.

When Grief Finally Has Room to Breathe

Introduction

Grief has a way of changing shape over time. In the beginning, there may be so much to do that there is little room to fully process the loss. But when life finally becomes quieter, the feelings we have been carrying can begin to rise to the surface.

For Christians, grieving with faith does not mean pretending the pain is gone or forcing ourselves to feel strong. It means bringing our sadness, questions, memories, and longing honestly before God. Sometimes, finding God in grief happens not through dramatic answers, but through quiet moments when we realize He has been beside us all along.

This season has been teaching me that grief and gratitude can exist together, and that God can meet us in both.

Back in July, I wrote about closing the door on one chapter of my life.

The house my dad and I had shared for twelve years had sold, the closing was finished, and I was getting ready to leave the Tampa Bay area and head for my sister’s property in the mountains of North Carolina.

At the time, so much of my attention was still focused on what had to be done. There were papers to sign, belongings to sort through, decisions to make, and a move to complete.

I knew I was grieving, of course.

But I’m beginning to realize that grief and having time to actually feel grief are not always the same thing.

I’ve been here in North Carolina since then, and in many ways, this is exactly where I wanted to be. I’ve loved the mountains for years. There is something about the quiet here that settles me.

The mornings around the firepit with coffee, the winding roads, the trees, the streams, and the slower pace have helped ease some of the stress I had been carrying since Dad passed away in January.

And yet, now that the noise of those first difficult months has quieted down, something else has gotten louder.

The grief.

When the Busyness Ends

Illustrated image of a woman with brown hair sitting on a porch overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains at sunrise, with the quote, “I didn’t have the luxury of falling apart every time I wanted to.” — Lori Domingo.For months after Dad died, I had things I had to do.

I didn’t have the luxury of falling apart every time I wanted to. There were practical matters that demanded my attention, and I think part of me simply did what was necessary to get through each day.

Now there are fewer deadlines. Fewer urgent decisions.

The house is sold. The move is over. I’m no longer surrounded by the constant reminders of everything that needed my attention.

And maybe that is why some of the feelings I pushed down are finally finding their way to the surface.

I’m learning that grief doesn’t always arrive all at once.

Sometimes it waits quietly while we survive the immediate crisis. Then, when life becomes calmer and there is finally room to breathe, the heart begins to process what happened.

Psalm 34:18 — “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

I find a lot of comfort in that verse because it doesn’t tell me I shouldn’t be brokenhearted. It doesn’t tell me to hurry up and feel better.

It simply reminds me that God comes close.

And right now, I need that closeness.

Seeing Dad Everywhere

One thing I didn’t expect was how much I would feel Dad’s presence here.

In some ways, I feel him more in these mountains than I did in the house we shared for twelve years.

He loved this place.

When we pass one of his favorite fishing spots, I think of him. When my sister and I sit around the firepit in the morning with our coffee, I think of him.

There are places here connected to memories of Dad, and sometimes those memories make me smile.

Other times, they make me overwhelmingly sad.

A Dream That Feels Different Now

I think part of what I’m struggling with is making this new life feel real.

I’m finally living in a place I had hoped to live for several years. But somewhere in all those dreams about the future, I suppose I pictured Dad still being part of them.

I never imagined arriving here without him.

And if I’m being completely truthful with God, there are moments when I tell Him I would give all of this back if it meant I could have more time with my dad.

I don’t think God is offended by that honesty.

He already knows what is in my heart before I say it.

Psalm 62:8 — “Trust in him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.”

Pouring out my heart to God means I don’t have to clean up my grief before I bring it to Him.

I can be grateful for where He has brought me and still wish Dad were here. I can love this new home and still ache for the life that ended.

Gratitude and grief can exist in the same heart.

Illustrated sunrise scene of a coffee cup beside an empty rocking chair on a mountain porch overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains, featuring a quote about healing, love, and loss by Lori Domingo.Grateful and Grieving at the Same Time

I am grateful. Truly.

I’m grateful for my sister. I’m grateful for the peaceful place God has given me to land. I’m grateful for the kind people I’ve met since arriving here. I’m grateful that, after months of stress, I have a little room to rest.

But gratitude does not cancel grief.

I’m beginning to understand that healing may look less like leaving grief behind and more like learning how to carry love and loss together.

Some days that may mean enjoying the mountains without guilt.

Some days it may mean crying because Dad should be here to enjoy them too.

And some days it may simply mean telling God, “This hurts today,” and trusting that He understands.

Giving Grief the Space It Needs

I don’t have a perfect plan for this season. But I’m beginning to see a few things I may need to give myself permission to do:

  • Let the tears come instead of assuming I should be doing better by now.
  • Remember Dad without being afraid of the sadness that sometimes comes with the memories.
  • Enjoy the life God has placed in front of me without feeling as though enjoying it means I am leaving Dad behind.
  • Talk honestly with God, even when what I have to say is messy, painful, or full of questions.
  • Take my time finding a church rather than letting fear convince me I will never find where I belong.
  • Accept kindness and friendship from the people God places in my path.
  • Trust that grief has no timetable and that God will meet me in each part of it.

Starting Over Spiritually, Too

I still haven’t found a church here.

Even thinking about walking into a new church by myself scares me a little, if I’m being honest.

There is something vulnerable about starting over spiritually as well as geographically. I know I need Christian community, but knowing that and feeling ready for it are two different things.

So for now, I’m asking God to guide me.

Not necessarily to show me the whole path, but to help me take the next step when it is time.

Isaiah 41:10 — “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.”

That promise feels especially meaningful in a season when so much is unfamiliar.

I enjoy spending time stargazing, watching the fireflies, listening to worship music, and engaging in faith-based writings as I read God’s Word.

And I’m doing all of it without the person who was such a constant part of my life for so long.

God Is Still Here in the Quiet

Maybe that is what this season is really about.

Not moving on from Dad.

Not forgetting.

Not forcing myself to be okay because the hardest practical parts are over.

Maybe it is about allowing myself to finally grieve.

The mountains have given me something I didn’t know how much I needed: space.

Space to remember. Space to cry. Space to sit quietly with a cup of coffee and miss my dad.

Space to notice the ways God has cared for me even while my heart has been hurting.

Learning to Call This Home

And perhaps, with time, this place will begin to feel like home in a new way.

Not because Dad isn’t here, but because the love and memories I carry with me are part of the life I am building.

I still wish he were here.

I expect I always will.

But I also believe God knew I would need this place. He knew I would need the quiet. He knew I would need my sister nearby.

He knew I would need time for everything I had pushed down to finally come out.

And He is here with me in it.

Lamentations 3:22-23 — “Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

Illustrated woman walking toward the open doors of a welcoming mountain church at sunrise, symbolizing faith, courage, healing, and starting over.One Day at a Time

Right now, I’m trying not to ask myself when I will feel completely settled or when the grief will become easier.

I’m trying instead to receive each day as it comes.

A quiet morning. A familiar fishing spot. A memory that makes me laugh. A memory that makes me cry. A conversation with someone new.

Maybe, one day soon, the courage to walk through the doors of a new church.

One day at a time.

I don’t know exactly what this new chapter will look like.

But I know the same God who carried me through the months after Dad’s passing is still carrying me now.

And when grief finally has room to breathe, I’m learning that God is not asking me to rush through it.

He is simply asking me to let Him sit with me in it.

Conclusion 

Grieving with faith is not about rushing toward healing or trying to leave the person we loved behind. It is about trusting God enough to bring Him the grief exactly as it is, one day at a time.

I am still learning what finding God in grief looks like for me. Some days it is found in Scripture. Some days it is in the quiet of the mountains, a familiar memory, a conversation with someone kind, or simply the reassurance that I do not have to carry everything alone.

The grief is still there because the love is still there. But so is God.

For more writings from Christian Author, Lori Domingo, click here.

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