By Sandra Bost
Have you ever done a glitter project with kids? You start with glue and good intentions, aiming for a little sparkle. But once the glitter comes out, chaos commences. It floats through the air, sticks to every surface, and lingers long after the project ends.
Grief is a lot like glitter. It shows up unexpectedly, clings to every memory, and leaves traces in places you never imagined. This week, as I sat beside two grieving parents, I was reminded of that glitter–and of my own journey through loss since saying goodbye to my momma a year ago.
She went to her eternal Home last year on October 31. It’s been a full year without her prayers, her voice saying, “I just wanted to call to hear yours,” and her laughter. 365 days of wondering how Daddy is doing without his girl. Sure, it doesn’t take my breath away every time I remember she’s gone anymore, but the ache of her absence still lingers. And so does the shimmer of her love–bright, persistent, and impossible to brush away.
In those early days after her passing, my husband heard a song by Patrick Droney called “Glitter.” I was still numb then, trying to process our new normal. The song was nice, but I didn’t fully absorb its meaning. Until this week. I remembered the lyrics as I sat beside the parents of one of my former students–two loving people now walking through the early moments of their own deep grief.
They lovingly cared for their only son for over 27 years. Due to a loss of oxygen at birth, he lived with profound physical challenges, confined to his bed and wheelchair. I had the privilege of knowing him during my time as a special education teacher in a unit for students with multiple disabilities. Though non-verbal with limited controlled movement, his presence was grounding. Our unit nurse always said, “He has the purest soul,” as she would stroke his head watching his big-brown eyes close in peaceful contentment.
I visited his parents 11 days after his passing–to bring comfort. But as is often the case in God’s economy, I left comforted.
They shared stories of God’s provision through unimaginable circumstances. In moments when hope seemed distant, they saw grace and provision. Despite medical professionals urging them at every “care conference” to consider placing their beautiful boy in a facility, they chose love over convenience, devotion over doubt. Their home became a sanctuary of compassion, filled with laughter, music, and the gentle rhythm of daily care.
Through songs and tears, we imagined their beloved boy–free from earthly limitations–running in Heaven, speaking his first words with joy to Jesus. In their faith, I saw the shimmer of eternity–the glitter of Love that never fades.
That is when the song “Glitter” came to mind. The chorus says:
“But no one really dies if the love remains
Yeah, nothing that dies really goes away
See grief, it’s just like glitter
It’s hard to brush away
Bright light and it still shimmers
Like it was yesterday.”
That’s how this year without Momma has been for me. The memories show up unexpectedly, like a sparkle when I hear or see something that I know she would have loved. They shimmer in the quiet moments, reminding me that love doesn’t vanish–it lingers, like glitter.
As I sat with those grieving parents, beholding their tear-stained joy, I saw a sparkle that reminded me of Jesus’s words in John 16:22: “So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you” (ESV).
Grief is real. It’s heavy. It’s messy. But it’s not the end. Jesus acknowledges our sorrow, yet He promises Joy that cannot be taken away. A joy that is eternal. A reunion with Him that is certain when you place your trust in Him.
In that living room, surrounded by stories of faith, perseverance, and love, I saw the truth of that promise. Their son’s life was a testimony of grace, and their grief–though deep–is held by the hope of Heaven. Just as I hold onto the hope of seeing Momma again, whole and radiant, I know they hold onto the vision of their son resting in the arms of Jesus.
So, no matter what stage of the grief journey you are on, remember that: though grief may flicker with pain, it also shimmers with love, memories, and the Joy to come when we finally see Jesus and our loved ones who knew Him.
Connect with Bost on social media platforms by searching for “Sandra Mullins Bost.”
