Joshua, Our Son, Has Died

On Death and Hope in the Resurrection

We were in a Chuck E Cheese in Columbus, Ohio for a birthday party in 2007. Joshua, our son, was 7 years old and had been invited by his friend to attend. He was so excited! As was his custom, he nearly drove us to the brink by repeatedly asking what day it would be, what we were buying as a gift, how much pizza he could eat, who would be there…all normal questions except repeated one thousand times more than the normal kid.

When we finally arrived Joshua did what most kids do. He crawled into the ball pit, started going through the maze of plastic tubes, and only occasionally stopping to grab a bite of pizza or a drink of pop. All the kids were basically the same, but with Josh there was one difference. About an hour in he came over to the booth where we were sitting, nearly hyperventilating. He couldn’t catch his breath. He tried to tell us how much fun he was having through his heavy breathing until he finally stopped trying to tell us. He just started crying. He wasn’t sad or upset. He just could not regulate the emotions he was feeling. He got so excited that all he could do was cry. We sat with him in the booth hoping that it would settle down and he could get back to playing. It didn’t. We eventually had to gather our things and go home. All the way there he sat silently in the backseat. By the time we got home he had evened out, and we enjoyed a pretty normal Saturday night.

On March 8, 2025, we received a call that every parent fears at some level. Joshua, our son, had died. He was 24.

I haven’t written here for a while, and this is the primary reason why. The grief has been nearly debilitating.

On June 2, 2018, Joshua pulled out of our driveway in his Honda Odyssey van, fully modified with a bed, storage, cooking supplies, and more, ready to live the van life. He had graduated from high school the month prior and was ready to embark on the adventure of a lifetime. His plan was to roam around the northeast and midwest for a while before heading to Colorado. I have a picture of him with me and Debbie in our living room moments before he left. As soon as the van pulled out of the driveway, I cried more than I had ever cried in my life.

We had just endured a very tumultuous 4.5 years at our house, stemming from Josh’s rebellion. It was, in many ways, a typical rebellion. But in other ways it was markedly atypical. I will not rehearse those years here; sufficient to say it was full of ups and downs and culminated in his desire to spread his wings.

We tried to guess how long it would last. All family guesses fell between three months and one year before he would tire of the road and return to the safety of home.

It was nearly seven years from his departure until he died in California.

He texted and called, for the most part, everyday. At least at first. Even recently we were hearing from him often. During my last conversation with him he told me he was getting counseling via Zoom, working out a place to live since he had wrecked his van, and planning to permanently relocate to the Bay area after living in Oregon for the past five years. We asked him to come home and do a reset. He said he was fine.

I never heard his voice again.

Joshua died in California, and we still aren’t totally sure how. The medical examiner ruled out suicide, for which we are grateful. We had always had that fear due to his mental illness, his inability to regulate emotions, and his mood swings. We will know more soon.

Yesterday, Debbie and I attended Easter services in Columbus, Ohio. We had reservations at a nice restaurant after since our daughter’s family was visiting her in laws for the weekend. Over dinner, we talked alot about Joshua. When your child dies on the other coast, the arc of grief is different. I’ve had to work with a funeral home in San Francisco, CA. They were wonderful. I appreciate the care with which they approached our family.

Regular readers will know that both my wife and I are educational administrators living very busy lives. The day we received Joshua’s ashes my plan was to go home and have a good, ugly cry. Instead I was dealing with two different parents who were angry about two relatively trivial things. I sat on the phone with one and emailed with the other while my son’s ashes were 20 feet away, fighting back my own emotions. I remember taking a mental break before making the phone call and saying to myself, “these people don’t even know your son is dead, Craig, much less that his remains are right there. Don’t judge them. Just serve them.” I resisted the very human inclination toward anger and served both families. One resulted in a very positive outcome. The other will probably never send me a Christmas card. :). But I got through it. By the time I could settle in to “spend time” with Josh, it was time to leave again to attend two Spring sporting events at the school.

Last week we received some of his belongings. I was interrupted once again and was unable to fully embrace that moment. I don’t know how to lose a son. My wife has watched a ton of videos of him. I can’t bring myself to. Neither of us is right. We are both navigating it in our own personal way…together.

When word first got out, we had groceries delivered to our house from friends, received gift cards, and enough chimes to potentially institutionalize us if we ever get a really bad wind storm. Our friends Kurt and Dannette pulled into our driveway the next day. My friend, JW, offered to do the same the next day (from 2.5 hours away). One of Debbie’s colleagues and one of mine showed up at the house to drop off gifts. The texts and messages were overwhelming. It has been a whirlwind, and I’m not even sure we adequately thanked everyone. I pray for grace if I missed someone.

Our son was a self-professed hippie, and the most surprising blessing of this ordeal has been hearing the stories of his road-dog friends who all described him as loving and giving and passionate and kind. But they also saw his other side and told those stories as well. Most people in this community are unemployed and have very little money. Despite that, they asked us if they could donate to his funeral expenses. We refused. We could cover it. They ignored us. Within a few days, his hippie friends had Venmo’d us enough money to totally pay for nearly all our expenses. We knew none of these people. Some sent $100. Some sent their last $7. (I just started crying in Panera just thinking of the kindness of people who are strangers to us. God bless you!)

This is probably the most disjointed thing I’ve ever written, and I don’t even know what I’m trying to say, but here goes…

Easter reminds me that my only hope for Joshua is the resurrection, and Jesus is the resurrection and the life. His mercy is new every morning.

I don’t know how to exist in our new reality. Our son is gone. He isn’t coming back. I won’t be able to call him later next month to wish him happy 25th birthday. There will be no grandchildren from him. The name “Heath” will end with me on our branch of the family tree.

The calls and texts of support have all but stopped. People have moved on with their lives, as they should. We are now in that phase of grief where we hold on to each other. It is a necessary phase. I have felt sadness, regret, relief, and pain. I have not felt much anger, just a little toward Josh for leaving us. I think that’s probably normal? Some people we fully expected to show up in our driveway never did. There is nothing to do about it except forgive them. I’m working on it.

We are resilient. We’ve been knocked down before although never like this. I’ve heard people say there is no pain like losing a child, and they are correct. But God understands. Who could understand more than a God who lost His own Son as well?

To those of you who have visited, called, texted, messaged, or sent gifts…thank you. May God reward you and bless you for your kindness. I plan to take a bit more time away from writing, but I’ll return soon enough for those who are interested readers.

Debbie and I have also talked much about making Joshua’s death matter. In other words, we want to do something in his name that will help others. We are still thinking that through, although it’s on the back burner while we simply grieve our loss. Pray for us that we would get direction on that. It is important to us to give him a legacy.

To Joshua:

We love you, son. We always will. You were stubborn, misguided, kind, moody, giving, loving, and unpredictable. You were passionate and contemplative and talented. There is nothing of ours that we wouldn’t give to talk with you one more time, but that will have to wait for another world. We miss you. We are deeply wounded by your loss. You mattered. You still matter.

-Dad