When Victory is Bittersweet
by Christina Bledsoe
“He’s in a better place.”
“No more insulin pump; no more constant worry about his glucose levels.”
“You’ll see him again in heaven someday.”
These statements were meant to be helpful. Each statement was spoken in love and with good intentions. But none provided relief to the pain and confusion of losing my dad on April 20, 2023.
As he was driving home on April 13th, his glucose levels dropped, last registering on his monitor in the thirties (normal is 70–100). After pulling off the road, he experienced a seizure and was not found until several hours later. After being airlifted to St. Louis, he remained unconscious until the impossible decision to remove life support was made. The week my family spent in the hospital is a blur: doctors, tests, beeping machines, tubes (so many tubes), tears, confusion, and heartbreak.
He never regained consciousness, but we never left his side. Each night a family member stayed overnight with him, and I vividly remember the night it was my turn. Sleeping was impossible, so I held his hand, prayed next to his bed, read Scripture aloud, and made promises to him that we would take care of my mom. I pleaded with him to wake up and pleaded with God not to take him from us.
My prayers were not answered in the manner I would choose, and there are days when it feels the gray clouds will never fully pass. Grief has been ugly and strange and at times beautiful (like finding a video message he sent from the beach while deleting files on my computer – how incredible to see him and hear his voice again!)
Two years of reflection have provided a path forward in processing this profound loss. And, while grief is different for each of us, these few action items have been important to my healing:
Find a way to honor your loved one. “The memory of the righteous is a blessing” (Proverbs 10:7). Honoring a loved one does not need to be extravagant — it can be as simple as living out the values he instilled or creating something small that reflects his life and faith. My dad loved to feed people, some would translate that to mean he loved to cook. However, it was not the act of cooking he loved, it was seeing the delight on the face of the person he was feeding. During his week in the hospital, numerous friends and family brought food and snacks so we did not have to leave his side. To pay it forward, each year my family takes snacks to the waiting room of a local hospital with a note and photo of my dad attached. It is simple, but it matters.
Carry forward their values. My dad lived with quiet strength and faith, even in the face of health challenges. He never complained, was kind and full of love. Paul reminds us, “Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1). Carrying forward my dad’s resilience and compassion is one way I imitate Christ through his example.
Allow grief and joy to coexist. Victory does not always feel like triumph. Sometimes it is surviving another day or finding a moment of laughter in sorrow. Ecclesiastes 3:4 says, “There is a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” There is a time to sit in your car at Target and cry, and there is a time to wipe the tears away and buy groceries. Healing does not mean forgetting — it means learning to hold pain and gratitude together.
Share their story and say their name. Revelation 12:11 tells us, “They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony.” Sharing my dad’s story keeps his memory alive and becomes a testimony of God’s faithfulness even in suffering. Remembering him on important dates, telling stories from the past and texting my mom photos of him means he still matters.
Ask for help. If you are struggling with grief this season, consider Grief Share, griefshare.org. This program provides resources for those struggling with loss and has been a lifeline for families.
Losing him was unbelievably hard, but Scripture reminds me that death is not the end. “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more” (Revelation 21:4). My dad’s absence is a wound, but his legacy is a gift.
The victory of moving forward feels bittersweet, but it is still victory — because Christ has already won the ultimate victory over death. “Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 15:57).
