Can One Child Ever Make Up for the Loss of Another?

Can One Child Ever Make Up for the Loss of Another? I’ve been reading articles and hearing comments that suggest something I can’t wrap my mind around: that when a parent loses a child, they somehow “make it up” by pouring more time, more energy, or more attention into the child or children who remain. People often say this to me directly: “But you have Maahir and Serena.” As if the presence of one child can soften the absence of another. As if love can be redistributed. As if grief works like math. But it doesn’t. Losing Sana has carved out a space in my life that nothing and no one can replace. I love Maahir deeply—he is my joy, my anchor, my reason to keep moving. And Serena, too, brings moments of light that I am grateful for. But their presence doesn’t erase the shape of the child who is missing. Sana’s universe is its own. It existed in parallel, not in comparison. My therapists remind me often: coping with grief isn’t about overcompensating. It isn’t about directing more energy toward the children who remain or trying to create emotional balance. The ache, the longing, the sense of incompleteness—they aren’t signs that I’m failing as a mother. They’re simply the truth of grief. Sana used to walk away whenever I talked about how one day, far in the future, we all die—as everyone does. She couldn’t bear hearing it. In my heart, the story of life always went that way: we would grow old, and one day our children would say goodbye to us. That was the natural order I believed in. Never—not once—did I imagine losing one of my children first. So when people gently remind me that I still have Maahir and Serena, I know they mean well. But what they don’t see is that grief doesn’t respond to logic or reminders. A mother's heart doesn’t replace; it expands. It holds every child whole. I carry two children with me every day—one physically present, one forever present in memory. One I can hold, and one I can only long for. And learning to live with both truths at once is the hardest part of all.