"Grieving the Child You Lost While Holding Onto Hope"

The Silent Grief of Addiction

Nobody warns you that loving a child with addiction comes with a kind of grief that never fully fades. It’s not the grief of death, but the slow mourning of the person they used to be—the child who laughed easily, who had dreams, who wasn’t consumed by this disease.

I see glimpses of him sometimes. A rare smile. A moment of clarity. A memory that sneaks up on me when I least expect it. And for a second, I think, Maybe he’s still in there. Maybe he’ll come back to me.

But then, the addiction pulls him under again. And I grieve all over.

I’ve learned that I don’t have to choose between grieving and hoping. I can hold space for both. I can acknowledge the loss while still believing in the possibility of healing. And on the hardest days, I remind myself: He’s still here. And as long as he’s here, there’s still hope.

If you’re mourning the child you once knew, you’re not alone. Your love for them is real, and so is your pain. But never forget—people do come back from this. And so can your child.