Grief is not something we move on from. It becomes something we move with. For families who have lost a child, especially to something as sudden and unexplained as SUDC, that movement often feels disorienting. It’s not linear. It doesn’t resolve. One moment you’re breathing through unbearable pain, and the next you find yourself laughing—and then wondering how you possibly could. That emotional whiplash is not a mistake. It’s grief doing what it does: showing up alongside life. 

Many parents share that joy now feels suspicious. They’ll say, “I had a good day—but I felt awful after,” or, “I laughed—but then I cried.” The but is heavy. It tries to separate the joy from the sadness, to explain or correct what feels like a contradiction. But grief isn’t a contradiction. It’s a companion. And that’s why a simple shift—from but to and—can be so powerful. 

“This is a lovely party, and I miss my child.” 

“I’m grateful for today, and my heart is still broken.” 

“I’m enjoying this moment, and I carry sorrow with me.” 

That word—and—makes space. It’s soft. It doesn’t demand you pick a side. It lets your grief and your joy coexist, the same way they do in your heart. 

From a clinical perspective, this shift honors what we know to be true about how grief operates. The Dual Process Model of Coping with Bereavement (Stroebe & Schut, 1999) explains that healthy grieving includes moving between two types of experiences: loss-oriented, where attention is focused on the pain of the loss, and restoration-oriented, where attention turns to ongoing life tasks, roles, and responsibilities. This is not a sign of avoidance or confusion—it’s a natural and necessary rhythm. The “and” lives right in that space. It allows room for both parts of the process to exist at once. 

This approach also aligns with Worden’s Four Tasks of Mourning, especially the final task: to find an enduring connection with the person who died while continuing to live. Using “and” helps build this internal connection—where love doesn’t disappear, and pain doesn’t mean life must stop. The relationship with the child becomes integrated, not erased. 

From a therapeutic standpoint, this reframing can also be supported through Narrative Therapy, which encourages individuals to make meaning of their loss by shaping the story of their life with the loss in it. Instead of erasing or diminishing the role of their child, parents learn to carry them forward in new ways. “And” supports that process. It holds the continuing bond alongside the reality of living. 

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) might explore this shift in terms of cognitive distortions—black-and-white thinking, for example, can tell us we must feel either joy or sadness. But grief, like life, is rarely that simple. The and invites a more balanced, truthful reflection of what’s actually happening internally. Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) might describe this emotional flexibility as dialectical thinking—holding two seemingly opposing truths at the same time. It is both a skill and a lifeline. 

For many, this is one of the hardest parts of life after loss—realizing that the world keeps going, even though yours stopped. That new memories are still being made, even though the person you love isn’t here to share them. That’s why this reframe matters. It doesn’t take the pain away, but it softens the edges. It gives you permission to live without feeling like you’re leaving your child behind. 

You are not betraying them when you smile. You’re not forgetting them when you enjoy something. You’re simply learning to live in a world that holds both their absence and your love. 

So if today you feel more than one thing—if your heart aches even as you laugh—know that nothing is wrong. You are not broken. You are grieving. And your grief deserves room to breathe. 

You can hold sorrow in one hand and gratitude in the other. You can carry heartbreak and laughter. You can say and. 

 And if you need someone to walk with you in that space—we’re here.