Navigating the Waves of Grief

 Ep. 062 with Kate Meyer

In a gentle, hope‑filled episode of the Good Grief Believer podcast, Julie Craig and Chris Frazier sit with counselor and ordained minister Kate J. Meyer to talk about grief, faith, and the kind of steady work it takes to move forward. Kate’s two books: Faith Doesn’t Erase Grief and Navigating the Waves of Grief, are written from a place of pastoral tenderness and clinical wisdom. She writes and speaks like a Christian mother who has learned to live with sorrow while finding a fragile peace, and her guidance is a balm for anyone searching for healing after child loss, seasonal sorrow, or the daily ache of absence.

The Life that Shapes the Work

Kate’s journey didn’t arrive fully formed; she “went kicking and screaming” into seminary and discovered her calling in chaplaincy and hospice care. That intimate, one‑on‑one work—walking beside people in their darkest valleys—became her “soul spot.” It’s there she learned that grief is not merely an intellectual problem to be solved but a whole‑person experience that touches spirit, body, and relationships. Her combined training as a counselor and minister allows her to bring spiritual companionship and practical tools together in a way that honors both faith and psychology—especially helpful for those seeking healing after child loss.

Grief as Waves: Anticipated and Sneaker Waves

Kate’s central image—and one that Chris and Julie return to—is the wave. Some waves are expected: anniversaries, holidays, birthdays, the first Christmas without a loved one. These tidal waves can be prepared for but still knock the breath out of a person. Others are “sneaker waves”: an uncle’s laugh on an old audio file, the smell of a perfume in the grocery aisle, or the sudden sting when a calendar year turns and a child’s brief life becomes more distant in time. Kate’s story of hearing her grandmother’s voice unexpectedly is a tender example—the moment she thought she was braced for her grandfather’s reading and was surprised by a wave of grief she had not foreseen. Understanding grief as waves helps people expecting healing after child loss know that their sorrow will ebb and flow and that this is normal.

Emotions: Naming, Expressing, and Releasing

Kate emphasizes that adults are often poor emotional learners. We teach children to tamp down tantrums rather than help them name feelings; as adults, we carry that pattern into grief. The book’s first theme is emotions—because grief requires naming what’s inside. When a grieving parent is told, “You mustn’t cry,” it can feel like a second wound. Kate gently reframes tears as a healthy, physiological way of cleansing: not weakness but a way to “wash out the yuck” so the spirit can move. Healing after child loss begins with permission—to feel anger, fear, bitterness, and sorrow—and moves forward when those feelings are expressed safely and given voice.

Connection: Relearning How to Be Together

Grief isolates; it unmoors people from themselves, from God, and from others. Kate’s second theme, connection, invites grieving people first to reconnect with themselves—who am I now?—and then to build safe connections outward: with a faith community, a trusted friend, or a counselor. For bereaved parents, this can mean the brave work of letting others speak the child’s name, sharing memories, or simply sitting in companionable silence. Kate encourages helpers to ask, “Is today a day to talk about them, or a day for a grief break?”—a small but powerful question that offers agency and care.

Identity: Who Am I Now?

No one exits grief unchanged. Kate is clear: the goal is not to become who one was before the loss but to name the new person that emerges. Identity shifts when routines, relationships, and shared habits change—when someone no longer takes cucumber from the refrigerator or no longer occupies the place at the table. Asking “Who am I now?” invites grieving people to explore meaning, purpose, and how to reconfigure roles within family and community. This gentle identity work is essential for healing after child loss because it creates a path for ongoing life that honors the one who’s gone.

Through: Moving Through the Valley

The fourth theme, inspired by Psalm 23, is the word “through.” Kate points out that scripture’s valley language promises accompaniment and movement—not a bypass of pain. Grief requires a “through” posture: trust that, while we walk through the darkest places, we are not alone and there will be seasons of reprieve. “Through” also insists on motion; it is not about rushing past feeling, but about taking baby steps—journaling, small rituals of remembrance, prayer that admits doubt, and repeated, faithful acts of care. For those seeking healing after child loss, “through” is a hopeful reminder that presence with God and others sustains movement even when progress feels small.

Faith That Makes Room for Doubt

One of Kate’s most tender and liberating messages is that faith does not require papering over anger or doubt. Her earlier book, Faith Doesn’t Erase Grief, reassures believers that questioning God, feeling angry, or needing distance can be part of a faithful season. She points to biblical grievers—Hannah, Jonah, the Psalmists—who show that lament, complaint, and raw emotion belong in the life of faith. For many grieving Christians, removing the pressure to “be grateful” or to “accept” too quickly opens space for honest sorrow and, over time, a deeper, more resilient trust. This is crucial for healing after child loss: faith that accompanies grief rather than dismisses it.

Practical Ways to Engage the Work

Kate wrote Navigating the Waves of Grief as an active workbook for people asking, “What can I do?” The book offers prompts, exercises, and simple practices: name a feeling, write a letter to the one who died, tell a three‑minute story about them, allow a griefful song to be heard without apologizing for tears. Movement matters. Reading and listening can help, but the real healing comes when grief is practiced—when the mourner does the small, repeated work of remembrance and reconnection. That is the path to finding peace that coexists with sorrow.

How Helpers Can Show Up

Kate gives clear, tender advice to those who want to support a grieving friend: say the person’s name, share memories (even small ones from short lives), ask permission to talk or to give space, and normalize tears. Remember anniversaries, not just the early flurry of support. Often, the most precious gift is simply remembering aloud: “I saw something today that reminded me of Emma.” That kind of recognition says, “I remember with you,” and is a lasting balm for healing after child loss.

Conclusion: A Hope That Holds Sorrow

Kate J. Meyer’s work is a holy blend of pastoral warmth and practical therapy. She offers permission to grieve honestly, tools to move through sorrow, and a theology that welcomes doubt as part of faithful life. For anyone longing for healing after child loss or searching for how to companion a grieving friend, her message is simple and freeing: face the waves, name the feelings, keep moving through the valley, and let faith be a companion—not a demand to feel differently before the heart is ready. In time and with gentle practice, grief softens without being erased, and peace—quiet, ordinary, and tender—can return to the long days.