Faith in My Journey as a Grieving Mother

When I say, "Losing my daughter felt like my life was over," I am speaking honestly. The day'I lost Taylor, I didn't want to breathe. I didn't want to stand. I didn't want to exist. Some people may think,"But you still had another daughter and a family to live for." And that is true. But this story is not about my daughters' journeys - it is about my own. In those moments, I lost faith in myself, even in my ability to be a mother. Staying alive, minute by minute, was all I could manage.

Those who knew Taylor and me understand how deep our bond was. I became a mother at 20, without strong examples to guide me from my own childhood. Simply, my relationship with my firstborn was formed through growth, struggle, and deep love. Losing her shattered my faith in everything. I pushed people away-not because they failed me, but because learning how to live and breathe without my daughter felt impossible.

Grief like this is incredibly lonely. Even when surrounded by people, it can feel as though no one truly understands what it means to lose a daughter-especially one who lived fifteen beautiful years and was so deeply woven into every part of my life. There is a unique isolation that comes with this kind of loss, a feeling that words can never fully explain. Adding to that loneliness, much of my own family lives out of town. While they showed up in every way they could and loved me deeply, the physical distance made the early days feel even heavier. There were moments when I felt completely alone in my grief, longing for comfort that couldn't always be close by.

Yet when | look back now, I can see that God was still present, even when I questioned Him, felt angry, cursed at Him, or turned away. My faith journey has not been clean or pretty, it has been raw, honest, and often full of doubt.

Before losing Taylor, I made several difficult decisions that felt confusing and lonely at the time. I left a youth sports organization and a job I loved to work at my daughters' school, choosing family over comfort. I didn't realize then that these steps of faith were quietly preparing me for what was ahead. That school community became the very support that carried my family when we were barely surviving.

When Taylor died, I forgot every good thing in my life. None of it mattered. I hit rock bottom. But God provided through people-friends, coworkers, and family-who showed up with meals, prayers, financial support, counseling connections, and love when I couldn't get out of bed. During those darkest weeks, my husband carried more than anyone should have to. While I was unable to function, he held our household together, stepped into every role, and kept life moving for our family with no warning or preparation. His family surrounded him, lifting him up so he could continue to hold us all. Their support allowed me the space to grieve without expectation and reminded me that even when I felt completely broken, my family was not abandoned.

I survived because others carried me when I had no strength left.

Now, four years later, grief is still a part of my daily life. So are panic attacks, anxiety, self-doubt, and the mental health struggles that grief often brings. Life has continued to throw unexpected challenges my way, and some days simply functioning feels like an act of courage. Faith, for me, does not mean the absence of these struggles-it means choosing to keep going through them.

I continue to have faith not because life has become easier, but because I have learned that God meets me in the middle of the mess. He works through therapy, through friends who sit with me in silence, through grace when I cancel plans or disappear for a while, and through reminders that my worth is rot-defined by my hardest days. Faith has become less about having answers and more about trusting that I am not walking this journey alone. My faith journey as a grieving mother is about navigating mental health honestly while still believing there is purpose ahead. It is about allowing myself to ask for help, to rest when needed, and to make changes that protect my well-being. It is about learning to survive the waves instead of fighting them.

If I could offer any encouragement, it would be this: have faith through the mental health struggles and through everything life throws your way. Give yourself permission to heal imperfectly. Lean on others. Take the next small step, even when the future feels overwhelming. Sometimes faith isn't believing everything will be okay. Sometimes faith is choosing to take one more breath, one more step, one more day-and trusting that even in the darkest seasons, hope is still being written.

And through it all, I carry Taylor with me-in the love she gave, the light she shared, and the purpose her life continues to bring into this world!