It Takes a Village to Raise a Child—But an Even Greater One to Raise a Child No Longer Here
by Lisa Price
We’ve all heard the phrase it takes a village to raise a child.
It’s familiar. Comforting. Almost universally agreed upon.
It paints a picture of shared responsibility—teachers and neighbors, grandparents and friends—each helping shape a child’s life. Meals dropped off. Carpools coordinated. Stories shared. Hands held.
But there’s another truth I didn’t understand until I became a mother living after loss:
It takes an even greater village to raise a child; no longer here.
When my daughter Ari was born, she lived for only ten hours.
Ten sacred, earth-shattering hours.
Her life was brief, but it was complete.
She mattered.
She still matters.
And when she died, I didn’t stop being her mom. I just became a mother in a world that no longer knew what to do with that truth.
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The Village I Never Imagined Needing
No one plans for this kind of village. No parent imagines needing a community to help carry their child’s memory, to speak their name when the room goes quiet, to remember that their love didn’t end when their child’s heartbeat did.
Grief doesn’t arrive gently. It arrives like an earthquake—shaking faith, identity, relationships, and certainty all at once.
In those early days after Ari died, I learned very quickly that the world is deeply uncomfortable with grief—especially grief that doesn’t resolve itself neatly.
People wanted me to be okay.
They wanted me to have answers.
They wanted my faith to tidy things up.
But faith, I learned, doesn’t erase grief.
It anchors you in it.
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Parenting Doesn’t End With Death
This is something our culture doesn’t talk about nearly enough. When a child dies, parenting doesn’t stop. It transforms.
I still mother Ari. I still carry her in decisions I make. I still wonder who she would be. I still live with the ache of her absence and the presence of her love.
Raising a child no longer here means raising their memory. Protecting their story. Ensuring their name is spoken. Letting their life continue to shape the world—even without their physical presence.
But that is not work meant for one heart alone.
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Why the Village Matters After Loss
Grief is heavy, but isolation is crushing.
What many bereaved mothers experience after loss isn’t just heartbreak—it’s abandonment, often unintentional, but real all the same.
The casseroles stop. The check-ins fade. People assume time has healed what time alone never could.
And slowly, grieving parents learn to edit themselves:
Don’t cry too much.
Don’t talk about your child unless asked.
Don’t make others uncomfortable.
Don’t stay here too long.
This is where the village needs to be different. Greater. A village that understands that grief doesn’t have an expiration date. That love doesn’t weaken over time. That remembering is not the same as being stuck.
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Faith That Holds, Not Fixes
My faith didn’t spare me from losing my daughter.
But it has held me through it.
I don’t believe Jesus rushed my grief or tried to clean it up.
I believe He sat with me in it.
In the silence. In the anger. In the questions with no answers.
Scripture tells us that Jesus wept.
Not explained. Not corrected. Not rushed.
He wept.
That matters to grieving parents.
Because faith that demands resolution is heavy. Faith that allows lament is sustaining.
At Bereaved Together, we believe there is room for grief and God in the same breath. Room for heartbreak and hope to coexist. Room for questions, doubt, trust, and surrender—all tangled together.
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Raising Ari Together
Bereaved Together was born out of this truth: no mother should have to carry this alone.
After Ari died, I didn’t need to be fixed. I didn’t need silver linings. I needed to be understood.
I needed a place where I didn’t have to explain why I was still her mom. Where I didn’t have to apologize for my grief. Where I could show up as both broken and brave.
Bereaved Together exists to be that village—for mothers like me.
A community where bereaved moms help bereaved moms. Where we raise our children together—through memory, movement, storytelling, prayer, and presence. Where love is not hidden, and grief is not rushed.
Where we honor our children by honoring our own lives.
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What It Means to Raise a Child No Longer Here
Raising a child no longer here looks different—but it is no less real.
It looks like:
Saying their name out loud
Honoring their birthday
Including them in family stories
Letting their life shape your purpose
Allowing joy without guilt
Allowing sorrow without shame
It looks like teaching the world that our children’s lives were not defined by how long they stayed, but by how deeply they are loved.
And it takes a village willing to remember with us.
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Becoming the Village for One Another
Sometimes the village we need isn’t the one we had before the loss.
Many mothers find it among others who know—not because they studied grief, but because they live inside it too.
This is the heart of Bereaved Together.
We gather not to move past grief, but to move with it. Not to forget our children, but to carry them together. Not to be strong for each other, but to be honest.
In this space, grief and faith are allowed to breathe. Tears and laughter sit at the same table. Stories are honored. Names are spoken. Love is witnessed.
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Love Still Needs Witnesses
One of the greatest gifts a village gives a grieving parent is this:
Witness.
Witnessing that their child existed. Witnessing that their love continues. Witnessing that their story matters.
Because love does not end with death. But it does need witnesses to remain alive in the world.
When a village remembers with you, your child is no longer carried by only one heart.
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The Village We Are Becoming
I didn’t choose this path. I didn’t want this story.
But I believe God can take what shattered us and use it to build something sacred.
Bereaved Together is that offering. A living testament that love lives on. That motherhood doesn’t end. That grief shared becomes survivable. That faith can be quiet and still strong.
It takes a village to raise a child.
And it takes an even greater one to raise a child no longer here— with tenderness, with remembrance, with faith, and with love that refuses to disappear.
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Gentle Tips for Being (or Finding) the Village After Child Loss For Bereaved Mothers
1. You don’t have to explain your grief to belong.
If you find yourself editing your pain so others feel more comfortable, it’s okay to seek spaces where no explanation is required. Grief doesn’t need a resume.
2. It’s okay if faith looks quieter than it used to.
A season of questions, silence, or lament doesn’t mean your faith is failing. God is still present—even when words feel far away.
3. You are still a mother.
Your child’s life counts. Saying their name, honoring their birthday, and keeping their memory present is not holding on too tightly—it’s love.
4. Let others remember with you.
When someone asks about your child, receive it as an act of care. You don’t have to carry their story alone.
5. Move at your own pace.
Connection doesn’t have to be constant. Showing up once, slowly, or quietly still counts.
For Friends, Family, and Supporters
6. Say the child’s name—even if it feels awkward.
It will almost always feel like love, not pain, to a grieving parent.
7. Don’t wait for grief to “pass” before checking in.
The second, third, and tenth years can be just as tender.
8. Resist the urge to fix or explain.
Presence matters more than perspective. Sitting with grief is more helpful than trying to make sense of it.
9. Stay when the casseroles stop.
Consistency is one of the greatest gifts you can offer.
10. Let joy and grief coexist.
A parent laughing does not mean they are “better.” It means they are human.
For Anyone Wanting to Be Part of the Village
11. Learn from those who live this every day.
Listen to bereaved parents. Follow their lead. Trust their wisdom.
12. Remember that love doesn’t end with death.
Supporting a grieving parent means supporting a lifelong relationship with a child who still matters.
13. Be willing to stay uncomfortable.
Grief doesn’t resolve neatly—but neither does love.
A Final Word
You don’t need perfect words to be part of the village. You just need a willing heart and a posture of presence. And if you are a mother raising a child no longer here, you were never meant to do this alone. We are BRAVEher together.
