by Stacy Sanchez
Thanksgiving is supposed to be a day of gratitude, comfort food, and familiar laughter. It’s a day when the people you love sit elbow to elbow around the table. At my house, it’s loud, messy, and beautifully imperfect.
But for many grandparents raising grandchildren, the holiday comes with a hollow ache you can feel before you even pull out the roasting pan. Because this year…again…your child won’t be at the table.
Maybe they can’t be because they’ve passed away. Maybe they shouldn’t be, because addiction has taken them somewhere you can’t follow. Maybe they won’t be because they’ve walked out, abandoned responsibilities, or chosen distance over connection.
Whatever the reason, the empty chair hits differently when you’re raising their children. It’s not just grief. It’s layered grief. Complicated grief. The kind that doesn’t settle politely in one corner of your heart. It spills everywhere.
Grief and Gratitude Can Coexist
You can raise their children and still grieve your own. Here’s what people don’t always understand: you can absolutely be grateful for your grandchildren and grieve for the child who isn’t here.
Loving one does not erase the longing for the other.
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- You can laugh at the toddler’s mashed-potato beard—and cry later when you step into the pantry because your chest suddenly tightens.
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- You can pray over the meal with genuine thanks—and still feel the quiet sting of This isn’t how it was supposed to be.
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- You can smile in the family photos—and still feel the weight of a moment that’s missing a face you once imagined would always be there. That doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you human.
And it makes you a parent whose heart has lived through more than most people will ever understand.
The Invisible Part of Raising Grandchildren
When people see the kids laughing, playing, or running around asking for more rolls, they don’t see what else you’re holding:
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- the sadness behind your strength
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- the memories that sneak up out of nowhere
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- the questions you still don’t have answers for
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- the prayers whispered on behalf of the child you miss
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- the heartbreak of watching their child—your grandchild—live with a story they didn’t
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- choose either
There are moments when the gratitude feels real and warm… and moments when the grief burns hot and sharp.
Both matter.
Both count.
Both can be brought to God.
When the Chair is Empty, God Sits Closer
When the ache of that empty seat rises, remember this: God does some of His deepest work in
the places where our hearts feel the most broken.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)
He doesn’t rush your grief.
He doesn’t dismiss your pain.
He doesn’t expect you to “just focus on the good.”
He sits with you in the sorrow.
He strengthens you in the exhaustion.
He holds you when the memories look like tears.
And He gives you the grace to stand in the gap for the children sitting around your table today.
Honor the Grief. Embrace the Grace
Here are a few gentle ways to care for your heart this Thanksgiving:
1. Name what hurts.
You don’t have to pretend the chair isn’t empty. You can acknowledge the loss without letting it define the whole day.
2. Let a trusted person in.
A friend, pastor, spouse, or sibling. Someone who knows the story and will hold space for you.
3. Create a small ritual of remembrance.
Light a candle. Say a prayer. Share a story. Write a note you’ll never send.
4. Let joy in when it knocks.
You’re allowed to laugh. You’re allowed to enjoy the day. Joy is not betrayal—it's survival.
5. Give yourself grace—not guilt.
You’re raising little ones in the middle of your own heartache. That is holy, heroic work.
You’re Not Alone in This Story
If no one else says it to you this Thanksgiving, let me say it clearly:
You are brave.
You are faithful.
You are doing something extraordinary in a season you never asked for.
Your love is changing a child’s future—even while your own heart is still healing. You
are heroic.
And God sees every bit of it.
He sees the empty chair.
He sees the full plate of responsibilities.
He sees the tears you hide in the bathroom.
He sees the gratitude you cling to even when it costs something to give it. And He won’t waste a single part of your story. Even the empty chair.
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