When the Waters Recede: Navigating Grief With Children After Disaster

The catastrophic flooding here in Texas has been an incomprehensible tragedy and a horrific reality for the families living in the loss of their loved ones. I’ve witnessed it. The grief is raw, emotional and overwhelming. Even those words are lacking in the ability to convey the depth of grief that leaves such open wounds.

A common image we turn to when we think of the grief process is a neat lineup of emotions: denial, anger, bargaining, depression then acceptance. But anyone who has grieved, especially after trauma, knows grief does not follow this pattern. Grief is not a straight line. The process of grief is often marked by loops, spirals and waves—and is frequently intertwined with shock and silence.

Most adults struggle with the process of grief and understanding its complexity. Now, consider the lens of a child experiencing grief. When grief enters into the life of a child, the process goes to a different level of complication. Imagine a child trying to understand the loss of their home, a friend or even a close family member. Sometimes all of that is lost in one fell swoop.

Grief in children often does not manifest in the way we as adults think it might. Tears, sadness and mopiness seem like expected behavior. However, grief can manifest as nightmares, meltdowns over minor things, clinginess or periods of quietness. And what is most alarming is not what they say, but when they stop talking. Silence is often a louder cry for help than any sob.

As I wrote in The Path Out of Loneliness, “We are relational beings who need eye-to-eye, face-to-face contact and proximity regularly.” But trauma creates distance. Parents try to stay strong to protect their children. This often looks like not allowing your children to see your own emotions. Children hold in their fear to avoid burdening their parents. Everyone goes quiet. And loneliness wins.

We can interrupt that pattern. We can start talking.

So, how do we help children grieve after disaster, especially when we’re grieving too?

Let’s begin here:

1. Name the storm inside and outside.

Do not sugarcoat the situation. Discuss what occurred in clear, calm terms: “This flood destroyed a lot of things. It’s okay to feel sad, mad or scared.” Kids need emotional vocabulary to match what is churning inside them. That is how they make sense of their own storm.

2. Create rituals for loss.

In Jewish tradition, sitting Shiva is a sacred mourning practice built around presence, silence and shared reflection. You don’t have to be Jewish to adopt the principle. What matters is the intentional togetherness. Sit on the floor. Turn off distractions. Light a candle. Let the loss be honored, not rushed. Children don’t need quick fixes. They need companions in their sorrow. When we sit with them, not to solve or silence, but simply to be with them, we teach that sorrow is not something they have to carry alone.

3. Model vulnerability.

Say the hard things aloud: “I’m overwhelmed, too.” Your tears do not make you weak. They make you human. When kids see adults owning their emotions instead of hiding them, they learn that feelings are not scary, they are shared.

4. Tell stories of resilience, without skipping the hard parts.

Kids do not need fake happy endings. Share about other hard things the family has faced and how you got through those experiences. Let them sit with the messiness. That is where real courage and resilience grows.

5. Anchor them with presence, not perfection.

After trauma, children do not need flawless, stoic parents. They need present ones. Sit with them. Listen. Let silence happen. Be the steady they can come back to, not the hero who always knows what to say.

6. Keep asking questions.

Ask: “What was the hardest part of your week?” or “What are you worried about next?” Do not assume you know what your child is thinking. Stay curious. Let their answers guide your connection.

The grief process is not: a rush to get past strong emotions, feelings and confusing behavior.

The grief process is: a call to walk with kids through grief, honestly, humbly and together.

The chapter of Psalm 34 reminds us, “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).

These words are a promise for flood zones, hospital rooms and the hearts of children whose world has been unrecognizably altered. When we sit with our children in shared silence or tears, when we say, “I don’t know either, but I’m here with you,” we are reflecting the character of God. He is the constant, unchanging, sovereign, omnipresent God who is lovingly patient as we heal and does not shy away from our sadness.

The image below, a grief process curve, can help illustrate what your child (or you) might be feeling. It’s not a map with fixed directions. It’s a mirror, reflecting the emotional terrain of grief. And no two journeys look the same.

As homes are rebuilt and lives slowly rise from the rubble, may we also tend to what’s unseen: safety, trust and the sacred ground of connection, one honest conversation at a time.

When children witness adults sitting in sorrow without rushing past it, when we light candles, share silence and speak gently of what was lost, we teach them that grief is not something to escape, but something we are allowed to dwell in, together.

This is our modern Shiva: the holy act of staying near.

Because healing does not come through answers, it comes through presence. In that presence, our children not merely recover. They are formed. Slowly, faithfully, they learn to walk through the valley and begin to know, even in the ache, a God who stays close, is near to the brokenhearted and sits with us still.