When grief teaches us to live without regret

Thirteen years later, we find ourselves once again in a season of loss and mourning. We lost my mother-in-law and her husband within five weeks of each other earlier this year. And now, as I write these words from my hometown in Brazil, I often struggle to grasp my father’s sudden passing a month ago.

His absence is everywhere. I hear it in the silence of conversations that will never be spoken again. I see it in the chair he no longer fills. I feel it in his garden, as the first spring flowers bloom, each blossom a testament to his love for nature left behind.

As a Christian, I cling to the hope of heaven. I know my father is with Jesus, whole and free. That truth is my anchor. And yet, the sting of separation presses deep. Faith does not cancel grief; it reshapes it.

Truth is, death is different from every other trial we endure. When you lose a job, there is hope of another. Illness may yield to treatment or miraculous healing. Even broken relationships can sometimes be mended. But death offers no second chances this side of eternity.

The last embrace, the silenced voice, the empty chair — these remind us that this world is not as it should be. And while our faith assures us that death is not the end, its shadow still lingers.

People’s best intentions in encouraging those who lose a loved one do not soothe the sting. Jesus himself showed us death’s weight as he wept when his friend Lazarus died (John 11:35). He knew he would call his friend back to life minutes later, yet he stepped fully into the pain of loss. David, the warrior-poet who knew God’s heart, cried bitterly after losing his closest friend, Jonathan (2 Samuel 1:26).

Their tears remind us that grief does not make us weak believers. It makes us human.

Paul’s words do not invalidate my pain. They remind me that, because of Jesus’ resurrection, my father’s faith has become sight. He is whole. He is home. And I will see him again.

I know that time will come. Laughter will rise again — not because the ache is gone, but because God is faithful to restore joy.

If you are grieving today, may I gently encourage you: Don’t rush the season. Don’t silence your tears. Jesus dignified our weeping, and heaven honors our ache. Let your tears fall as prayers. And while you walk this valley, hold close the ones who are still here.

Call them. Forgive them. Laugh with them. Be silly with them. Linger longer at the table and listen well. Because one day, the phone call will come, and the chair will be empty.

And when that day comes, I pray that you and I will be able to look back and sing the chorus I now whisper in grateful prayer:

No regrets, Lord. Not one.