Some grief is loud, expected, and acknowledged by everyone around you. But then there’s the grief nobody talks about. The kind that sneaks up on you in the middle of caregiving, between hospital visits and sleepless nights.
It’s the grief of friendship loss.
I know it well, because I lived it.
She was more than a friend. She was family. We were pregnant at the same time. Our boys are the same age. Her family was my family, and mine was hers. Holidays, birthdays, church pews, even the little everyday things; we shared life.
And then one day, it all shifted. Words, misunderstandings, choices. I couldn’t even really wrap my mind around it. But what I did know was this: she wasn’t in my life anymore.
And when you’re raising a child with special needs, that loss hits differently. Because friendships are your lifeline. They’re the people who help carry you when your world feels heavy, who show up when you can’t show up for yourself. Losing that kind of support feels like the ground gives way beneath you.
It felt like a death. Except nobody brought food over, nobody said “I’m sorry for your loss.” But it was a loss. A deep, soul-aching loss.
I had to grieve her.
I had to grieve us.
And if I’m honest, I had to grieve the version of life I thought we’d always share…our boys growing up side by side, the way it was supposed to be. Or so I thought.
And you know what? That grief was complicated, because she’s still alive. I see reminders everywhere.
But here’s the thing I’m learning, sis. God meets me in the grief of friendship just like He meets me in every other kind of grief. The medical kind. The caregiving kind. The kind that comes from watching your child fight battles most adults will never understand.
He whispers, “I know what it feels like to be abandoned. I know what it feels like to lose. And I also know how to heal you.”
So I hold onto that. I let myself cry when the ache comes. I let myself smile when the memories surface. And I let myself believe that even in this loss, God is protecting and redirecting.
Friendship loss is real grief. It deserves space. It deserves tears. It deserves healing. And most of all, it deserves to be handed over to God, who knows how to carry what feels too heavy for us.
So if you’re grieving a friend today, know this. You’re not crazy, and you’re not alone. It’s okay to name it for what it is because not enough people talk about it or acknowledge it. But it’s grief. And it’s okay to trust that God can bring new joy even in the empty places.