"Loving Through the Loss: Making Space for the Children Who Remain"

By Teresa Carnes

When I lost my daughter Kaylee to addiction, my world shattered. But even in the depth of that grief, there was another heartbreak I had to face:

My son, Colton, lost his sister.

Colton is nine years younger than Kaylee, and while she wasn’t exactly thrilled when we told her she’d no longer be an only child  crying at the thought of sharing our attention  that all changed the moment she laid eyes on him. She was the first person to hold him in the hospital after me, and from that instant, a bond was born.

She refused to let anyone else hold him. She became his protector, his playmate, his built-in cheerleader. No girl was ever good enough for her baby brother she was fiercely loyal like that. She doted on him constantly, and in his eyes, Kaylee was perfect. The most beautiful girl in the world. No one else could ever compare.

Their love for each other was something rare and sacred  a sibling bond rooted in admiration, laughter, and unshakable love.

Two Griefs in One House

After Kaylee passed away from an infection caused by heroin use, everything in our home changed. There was silence where her laughter used to echo, and a heaviness none of us knew how to carry. My heart broke every time I looked at Colton not just because I missed Kaylee, but because I saw the sadness behind his smile. He was grieving too.

But I was so consumed by my own loss that there were moments too many of them  when I couldn’t fully be there for him. I’d show up physically, but emotionally I was numb. I was surviving, not living. I was drowning, and I didn’t even realize he was trying to stay afloat beside me.

That’s a grief no parent talks about enough  the guilt of not being able to give your whole heart to the child who’s still here.

What I’ve Learned About Parenting Through Loss

There’s no manual for this. No perfect way to navigate parenting while grieving. But I’ve learned often the hard way  that Colton needs me to be present. He needs to feel seen and loved and safe, even while we both carry this giant hole in our hearts.

Here are a few things that have helped us:

Making space for his grief. I’ve learned to ask him how he’s feeling, even if I’m scared of the answer. Some days he wants to talk about Kaylee. Some days he doesn’t. And that’s okay.

Creating new memories together. We started taking little trips or having movie nights  just us. It doesn’t take the pain away, but it reminds both of us that joy still exists and life is still worth living.

Keeping Kaylee present. We talk about her often. We share memories, look at photos, and even laugh about the silly things she did. Her memory is a bridge between us, not a wall.

Letting him see me cry and heal. I don’t pretend to be okay all the time. I want him to know that it’s okay to grieve, to miss, to hurt  but also that it’s possible to keep going.

Telling him he matters. Over and over again. I remind Colton that just because I’m sad doesn’t mean I don’t see him. That he is still my joy, my reason, my everything.

Love Didn’t Die With Her

One of the hardest things to reconcile is that love for one child didn’t end when she passed  it just had nowhere to go. So I pour it into Colton. Into our conversations, our hugs, our time together. Not as a replacement, but as a reminder:

Love doesn’t end. It grows. It stretches. It finds new ways to be expressed.

Colton carries a piece of Kaylee in him  her smile, her humor, her heart. And I carry both of them in me. Every day.

To the Parent Navigating This Path Too

If you’re trying to raise a child while grieving another, I see you. I know it feels impossible some days. But I want you to know:

Your presence matters.

Your effort counts.

You’re allowed to grieve and love at the same time.

And your living child deserves the best of what’s left of you.

There’s no perfect way to do this. Just your way. Just one day, one moment, one conversation at a time.

Call to Action: Keep Showing Up

If you’re a grieving parent, take a moment today to check in with the child who’s still here. Go for a walk. Ask how they’re doing. Share a memory. Let them know:

You haven’t forgotten them you’re holding on to them with both hands.

Love them out loud.

And love yourself through the process.