On Losing a Daughter: A Mother’s Grief Journey

More than two years after the death of her daughter Miranda, Danielle Crittenden continues to grapple with the profound and enduring impact of her loss, describing grief as a heavy stone she carries daily that occasionally allows moments of beauty but never fully dissipates.

Miranda died suddenly on February 16, 2024, at age 26, after her cortisol levels became dangerously low following her decision to minimize medication side effects related to a nonmalignant brain tumor she had survived five years earlier. Medical examiners determined she fell unconscious before her heart stopped, sparing her awareness of pain.

In the immediate aftermath, Crittenden described being too shocked to cry, a state she likened to “too cold to snow.” She and her husband David traveled to Brooklyn to identify Miranda’s body, where they were confronted with the physical reality of her death, including bruising from her fall and the cold stiffness of her remains.

The grief that followed was intense and all-consuming. Crittenden experienced physical symptoms resembling a heart attack, later diagnosed as a medical-grade panic attack and described waking each morning with the unavoidable thought: “Miranda is still dead.” She found reminders of her daughter everywhere—from favorite grocery items to AI-curated photo memories on her phone—each capable of triggering overwhelming emotional collapse.

She struggled to find timely mental health support, encountering long waiting lists and unresponsive providers, before eventually finding relief through eye-movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) therapy with a grief specialist, which helped her process traumatic memories of the phone call announcing Miranda’s death and the first sight of her body.

Over time, Crittenden learned to navigate her grief not by seeking “acceptance” or “healing” as promoted in popular self-help narratives, but by adjusting to a permanent absence. She described moments when she could set down the “stone” of grief to enjoy beauty—such as sunlight on snow or moonlight on water—but noted that the weight always returned.

She found comfort in the scientific fact that fetal cells from Miranda remain in her body, potentially contributing to her health, saying, “Even after death, Miranda remains alive within me, her cells woven through my brain and blood.”

Crittenden rejected platitudes about grief being a gift or opportunity for growth, recalling Miranda’s likely response: “Fuck off.” She emphasized that her loss was not a spiritual gain and that no truth could comfort her beyond the fact that her daughter was dead.

More than two years later, the shock of Miranda’s absence remains acute. Crittenden continues to ask, “Why is she still not here? Haven’t we suffered enough? Don’t we deserve to have her back now?” while gradually rebuilding a relationship with her daughter’s memory through small recollections—her voice, her laugh, her opinions on clothing—without ever reaching a point of true acceptance.