A Grief Moment

Beyond the Losses We Could See: Collective Grief During COVID-19

October 14, 2026

Written by Tiff | A Grief Moment

I want you to think back to the early days of COVID-19. Not just the sickness, the death tolls, or the images we saw on television. I want you to think about the little things. The things we did every day without thinking twice about them. The things that suddenly became complicated, uncomfortable, or even frightening.

Because COVID-19 did not just change how we lived. It changed how we interacted with one another, how safe we felt, how we worked, and how we understood the world around us.

I remember sitting in the call center where I worked as a manager. We would listen to news coverage about the virus spreading through China and talk about it in passing. It was concerning, of course, but it still felt far away. It was something happening somewhere else.

Then, just like that, it was at our front door.

Before COVID-19, I had been advocating for my team to work remotely. The work they did could be performed from home, but our company was not set up to operate that way. Making remote work possible had become one of my missions as their manager. I wanted my team to have that flexibility, and I was working toward making it happen.

I just never imagined it would happen like that.

I remember coming into the office and hearing management discuss sending everyone home. There was no carefully planned transition, no clear roadmap for how we would continue operating. Employees were given two cardboard boxes, told to pack up their desks, and instructed to take their computers home.

And that was it.

We left the office without knowing exactly how we would manage the work, how long we would be gone, or what would happen next. Some teams were furloughed. People were worried about their jobs. Everyone was trying to hold on to whatever security they still had.

Think about that for a moment. One day, you have a workplace, a routine, a team, and a general idea of what tomorrow will look like. The next day, you are packing your life into two cardboard boxes and hoping the next decision made about your future does not leave you without a paycheck.

That is a loss, too.

Research on grief during COVID-19 has documented how the pandemic created multiple layers of loss, including disrupted routines, employment changes, separation from loved ones, and the loss of the life people previously understood as normal (Kumar, 2023; Sirrine et al., 2023; Statz et al., 2023; Scheinfeld et al., 2022). Not every one of those experiences is grief for every person. But for many, the uncertainty and disruption carried a real emotional weight.

And the changes did not stop at work.

I remember sitting in a doctor’s office where everyone was quiet. An elderly woman dropped the contents of her bag, and my first instinct was to help her. That is what many of us have done our whole lives. Someone drops something, you help pick it up. Someone needs a hand, you offer one.

But I remember the looks, the hesitation, the awareness of everyone around us. Something as ordinary as helping another person had become complicated by the fear of getting too close.

We were trying to protect ourselves and one another. The virus was a real danger, and keeping our distance had a purpose. But that did not make the experience of distance any less strange.

Shaking hands, hugging, holding a door, stopping to talk, or standing close to someone in a checkout line suddenly required a different kind of thought. We began paying attention to how close we stood, what we touched, and who we might expose. Even the smallest interactions carried a question that had not been there before: Is this safe?

Research examining social relationships during lockdown found that distancing measures affected connections with partners, household members, neighbors, and communities. Some people experienced disconnection and loneliness, while others found new ways to support one another and experienced a greater sense of solidarity (Ferreira et al., 2023; Schneiders et al., 2022).

That contrast matters. We did not all experience the pandemic in the same way. But many of us had to relearn how to be around one another.

I remember going to Publix and finding restrictions on how much bread we could buy. One item per customer. I had to choose between hamburger buns and hot dog buns. Something so ordinary, something I would never have thought twice about before, suddenly required a decision because I could not simply buy both.

I remember telling people to meet me at the door. Leave the package outside. I would get it from there. We stayed inside. We avoided unnecessary contact. We worried about getting sick, and we worried about passing the virus to someone more vulnerable than ourselves.

The world had become a place where we had to think differently about everyday life.

And then there was the news.

We watched the reports of infections and deaths. We listened for updates. We tried to understand what was happening and what it meant for us and our families. The situation was serious, and we needed reliable information. But research during the pandemic also found associations between greater media exposure, fear and worry about COVID-19, and psychological distress (Mahat-Shamir et al., 2023; Sasaki et al., 2020; Stainback et al., 2020).

For many of us, it was difficult to look away from something that might affect whether we stayed healthy, kept our jobs, or could safely see the people we loved.

We were trying to make sense of an uncertain world while watching that uncertainty unfold in real time.

This is where I want us to think about collective grief.

When we hear the word grief, we often think about the death of someone we love. And that grief deserves to be recognized in its own right. But grief during COVID-19 was not limited to bereavement. Research has explored how people also experienced losses involving relationships, routines, normalcy, security, and their expectations for the future (Fang & Comery, 2021; Kumar, 2023).

Collective grief can help us understand what happens when people experience disruption and loss within the same broader event or social moment. It does not mean that everybody grieves in the same way, or that everyone experienced the same losses. It means that our individual experiences can unfold within a shared reality that changes life for many people at once.

Consider the loss of the casual conversations that once happened without planning. The comfort of visiting family without calculating risk. The ability to show up for someone in person. The familiar rhythm of going to work, shopping for groceries, or helping a stranger without first wondering whether closeness might put someone in danger.

Even when we were connected through phones and video calls, digital contact could not always replace being physically present. Studies of loneliness and social isolation during COVID-19 describe how the loss of in-person contact and ordinary interactions affected people’s experiences of connection (Klinenberg & Leigh, 2024; McKenna-Plumley et al., 2021).

We lost more than access to places. For a time, we lost some of the ease with which we occupied those places together.

And when we talk about grief, I think we need to make room for that.

We need to make room for the employee who feared losing their job. The parent who could not give their child the experiences they had imagined. The person who lived alone and missed the presence of another human being. The older adult who worried about exposure. The manager trying to keep a team functioning without knowing what the next week would bring. The person who missed a hug, a familiar routine, or simply feeling safe in an ordinary public space.

Studies of pandemic-related loss have described how these experiences could accumulate, affecting people’s sense of control and their ability to make sense of what was happening (Scheinfeld et al., 2022; Sirrine et al., 2023; Statz et al., 2023).

Not every disruption becomes grief. Not every person experienced the pandemic as a loss. And we should never assume that we know what someone else was carrying simply because we lived through the same period.

But we can acknowledge that the pandemic changed more than our schedules. It changed the conditions under which we worked, connected, cared for one another, and imagined the future.

I think back to those two cardboard boxes. I had spent time advocating for remote work, and suddenly, remote work was no longer a goal to work toward. It was the immediate reality. The change I had wanted for my team arrived in a way none of us could have planned for, surrounded by uncertainty about jobs, operations, and what would come next.

That memory reminds me that change can bring relief and fear at the same time. We can be grateful for an opportunity and still grieve the circumstances that forced it upon us. We can understand why distance was necessary and still miss the comfort of being close. We can survive a period of uncertainty and still carry memories of how unsettled the world felt.

So I want to ask you something.

When you think back to COVID-19, what do you remember losing that you did not recognize as a loss at the time?

Was it the freedom to move through the world without fear? The routine of going to work? The ability to reach out and help someone without hesitation? The comfort of being around people? Or the feeling that tomorrow would look somewhat like today?

Maybe your loss was much more personal. Maybe it was something no one else could see.

Whatever comes to mind, I hope we can make room for those memories without comparing whose experience was harder or deciding whose loss mattered more.

Because the pandemic was not one experience. It was millions of individual experiences unfolding inside one shared crisis.

And sometimes, the things we grieve are not only the people we lost. Sometimes, we grieve the life we knew, the connections we took for granted, and the sense of certainty we once carried without even realizing it.

Sometimes, we do not recognize what we have lost until the world asks us to live without it.

References

Fang, C., & Comery, A. (2021). Understanding grief during the first-wave of COVID-19 in the United Kingdom: A hypothetical approach to challenges and support. Frontiers in Sociology, 6, Article 607645. https://doi.org/10.3389/fsoc.2021.607645

Ferreira, J. M., Merçon-Vargas, E. A., & Midgette, A. J. (2023). Sociability, social isolation, and social interaction during the first months of COVID-19 pandemic: A qualitative analysis of Brazilian, Finnish, and American adults. Trends in Psychology, 31, 924–956. https://doi.org/10.1007/s43076-022-00172-9

Klinenberg, E., & Leigh, J. K. (2024). On our own: Social distance, physical loneliness, and structural isolation in the COVID-19 pandemic. Social Problems, 71(4), 1216–1230. https://doi.org/10.1093/socpro/spad003

Kumar, R. M. (2023). The many faces of grief: A systematic literature review of grief during the COVID-19 pandemic. Illness, Crisis & Loss, 31(1), 100–119. https://doi.org/10.1177/10541373211038084

Mahat-Shamir, M., Pitcho-Prelorentzos, S., Kagan, M., Kestler-Peleg, M., & Lavenda, O. (2023). Adjustment disorder in the face of COVID-19 outbreak: The impact of death anxiety, media exposure, fear of contagion and hypochondriasis symptoms. OMEGA—Journal of Death and Dying, 87(4), 1189–1206. https://doi.org/10.1177/00302228211034372

McKenna-Plumley, P. E., Graham-Wisener, L., Berry, E., & Groarke, J. M. (2021). Connection, constraint, and coping: A qualitative study of experiences of loneliness during the COVID-19 lockdown in the UK. PLOS ONE, 16(10), e0258344. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0258344

Sasaki, N., Kuroda, R., Tsuno, K., & Kawakami, N. (2020). Exposure to media and fear and worry about COVID-19. Psychiatry and Clinical Neurosciences, 74(9), 501–502. https://doi.org/10.1111/pcn.13095

Scheinfeld, E., Gangi, K., Nelson, E. C., & Sinardi, C. C. (2022). Please scream inside your heart: Compounded loss and coping during the COVID-19 pandemic. Health Communication, 37(10), 1316–1328. https://doi.org/10.1080/10410236.2021.1886413

Schneiders, M. L., Mackworth-Young, C. R. S., & Cheah, P. Y. (2022). Between division and connection: A qualitative study of the impact of COVID-19 restrictions on social relationships in the United Kingdom. Wellcome Open Research, 7, Article 6. https://doi.org/10.12688/wellcomeopenres.17452.1

Sirrine, E. H., Kliner, O., & Gollery, T. J. (2023). College student experiences of grief and loss amid the COVID-19 global pandemic. OMEGA—Journal of Death and Dying, 87(3), 745–764. https://doi.org/10.1177/00302228211027461

Stainback, K., Hearne, B. N., & Trieu, M. M. (2020). COVID-19 and the 24/7 news cycle: Does COVID-19 news exposure affect mental health? Socius, 6. https://doi.org/10.1177/2378023120969339

Statz, T. L., Kobayashi, L. C., & Finlay, J. M. (2023). Losing the illusion of control and predictability of life: Experiences of grief and loss among ageing U.S. adults during the COVID-19 pandemic. Ageing & Society, 43(12), 2821–2844. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0144686X21001872
A Moment to Reflect: Anticipatory Grief

October 14, 2026
Written by Tiff | A Grief Moment

In 2021, I was introduced to multiple myeloma, a type of blood cancer that begins in plasma cells, a type of white blood cell found in the bone marrow. These cells normally help the body fight infection by producing antibodies. With multiple myeloma, abnormal plasma cells multiply and can interfere with the production of healthy blood cells, weaken bones, and affect other parts of the body.

I had just finished casting my vote before joining a family group call in which my mother and father shared the news. My father had been diagnosed with multiple myeloma.

On that call were my mother, my father, my brother, my two sisters, and me. We all heard the same news, but we didn’t all receive it the same way. And as I write this reflection today, we are still dealing with it differently.

I had a hard time separating the news of my father’s diagnosis from the time in which we received it. We were still in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic, and there was so much death being reported in the media. It was hard not to think about losing him. The thought of his illness being terminal, and what that might mean for our family, was a fear I definitely had to navigate.

Today, I want to talk to you about anticipatory grief.

Anticipatory grief is the grief that can arise when we anticipate a possible future loss. It can happen when someone we love is living with a serious illness and we begin to think about the possibility of life without them. It can also involve grieving the changes that are happening while they are still here.

Sometimes, we begin grieving before we fully understand what we are grieving.

We may experience fear, sadness, anger, anxiety, denial, or avoidance. We may find ourselves trying to prepare for the worst while desperately hoping for the best. We may focus on being strong for our family, keep ourselves busy to avoid difficult thoughts, or struggle to accept the reality of what is happening.

And sometimes, we move between these responses without even realizing it.

Although these emotions may resemble responses associated with other forms of grief, grief does not follow a universal set of stages. We don’t all experience the same emotions, in the same order, or at the same pace.

I think about my own experience with my father’s diagnosis and how difficult it has been at times to watch him go through changes. There have been moments when I have struggled to take in the reality of what is happening. I have questioned whether I was experiencing denial. I have also continued to pray for my father daily, holding on to my faith and hope while acknowledging that the uncertainty is still there.

Because the truth is, you can have faith and still be afraid.

You can pray for healing and still worry about the future. You can remain hopeful while struggling with thoughts you wish you didn’t have. You can want to be strong for the people you love and still need time to process what you are experiencing yourself.

And I imagine that many people navigating a loved one’s illness can relate to some part of this experience.

What has stayed with me is how differently my siblings and I have responded to our father’s diagnosis. We share the same father, yet our emotions, our relationships with him, and our ways of coping are not identical.

One person may want to talk about the illness, while another may find those conversations difficult. Someone may seek information and try to prepare for what lies ahead, while someone else may avoid thinking too far into the future. One person may openly express fear, while another may keep those feelings private.

We cannot always see what is happening beneath another person’s response. And we should be careful not to assume that someone who appears strong is not hurting, or that someone who avoids the conversation does not care.

Sometimes, the person who seems to be handling everything may be struggling privately. Sometimes, the person who cannot talk about the illness may be overwhelmed by what it means to them.

The same diagnosis can affect an entire family, but each family member has their own emotional experience to navigate.

This is why I believe it is important to acknowledge anticipatory grief. When someone we love becomes seriously ill, our attention naturally turns toward them and what they need. We may focus on their health, their treatment, and their well-being while trying to make sense of our own emotions.

But it’s also important to be in tune with how we’re feeling and to take care of ourselves throughout the process. Acknowledging our fears, talking about our emotions, and allowing ourselves time to process what is happening can be healthy parts of navigating a loved one’s illness. We can show up for someone we love while also recognizing that the experience is affecting us, too.

And if you’re walking alongside someone you love through an illness, remember that you don’t have to process everything at once. Give yourself and the people around you room to respond in your own ways, and remember that support may look different for each person.

I’m not sure if this resonates with something you may have experienced, but I hope these words help someone recognize and better understand what they may be feeling. Perhaps you have received difficult news about a parent, a sibling, a partner, or another person you love. Or perhaps you know someone who is navigating this experience and could benefit from understanding anticipatory grief.

Does this resonate with you? Do you know someone who could benefit from this information? If so, please consider sharing this post with them.

And if you are walking alongside someone you love through an illness, remember that you don’t have to wait until goodbye to acknowledge your grief, and you don’t have to navigate the uncertainty alone.

References
1. National Cancer Institute. (n.d.). Multiple myeloma. https://www.cancer.gov/publications/dictionaries/cancer-terms/def/multiple-myeloma
2. Singer, J., et al. (2022). An examination and proposed definitions of family members’ grief prior to the death of individuals with a life-limiting illness: A systematic review. Palliative Medicine, 36(4), 581–608. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10098140/
3. Associations Between Media Exposure and Mental Distress Among U.S. Adults at the Beginning of the COVID-19 Pandemic. (2020). https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC7351429/
4. COVID-19 News Consumption and Distress in Young People: A Systematic Review. (2022). https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/34990630/
Let’s Talk About Jada Moore

October 14, 2026
Written by Tiff | A Grief Moment

I came across a story the other day, and the headline read, “Five-Year-Old Girl Is Beaten to Death by Grandparents for Pooping in Her Pants.” And to be honest with you, I can’t pinpoint exactly what part of that headline caught my attention. Was it the fact that she was five years old? Was it the thought of a five-year-old child being beaten? Or was it the fact that the people accused of beating her to death were her own grandparents? Maybe it was the extreme punishment associated with something that can happen during early childhood development.

Whatever it was, I immediately needed to know the identity of this little girl. As I researched the story and continued to learn more, I found myself wanting to do more than read another headline and move on to the next story. I wanted to acknowledge this child as a person. I wanted to say her name, learn about her life, and make sure her story was about more than the circumstances of her death.

So, let’s talk about Jada Moore.

Jada was a five-year-old little girl whose mother, Kimberly Elwoods, was going through a difficult period in her life. According to reporting from CBS Chicago and Law&Crime, Kimberly had “fallen on hard times and needed someone to care for” Jada. Her father, Klent Elwoods, reportedly visited Kimberly and Jada in Georgia before bringing Jada to Illinois, where he lived with his wife, Lisa Jones.

And what really gets me about this part of the story is that this is not an unusual situation. Families depend on one another. Parents need help sometimes. People go through difficult seasons in life, and sometimes that means asking family members to step in and help care for their children.

You should be able to depend on family to help you in times of need. You should be able to depend on family to help care for your children and protect them when you cannot be there yourself.

I can only imagine how difficult it might be for a mother who needs help caring for her child, especially when that help requires her to be separated from her child for a period of time. Asking for help does not automatically mean a parent does not love their child or want to care for them. Sometimes, asking for help is part of trying to create a more stable situation for both of you.

And that is what makes Jada’s story so difficult to sit with. Her mother entrusted her to family members who were supposed to provide care and support during a temporary period of hardship. Instead, according to the reporting and allegations in this case, Jada experienced abuse in the very environment where she should have been safe.

Another part of this story that sticks with me is how little time Jada had been living in that household. According to reporting about statements made during the investigation, the abuse reportedly began as early as one month after Jada came to live with her grandfather and his wife.

One month.

Let’s sit with that for a moment.

I find myself wondering how a situation like this develops. What was happening in that home? How did something that should have been a caregiving arrangement become an environment in which a little girl was reportedly being physically punished for having bathroom accidents? These are questions worth asking, not because we can know every answer from the reporting, but because we need to understand the seriousness of what happens when a child’s needs are met with punishment instead of care.

And before we go any further, I want us to take a moment to understand something about Jada’s age and the developmental process of learning to use the bathroom.

Let’s Talk About Potty Training

According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, many children begin showing physical readiness for toilet training around 18 months, but the cognitive, emotional, communication, and motor skills needed to use the toilet consistently often develop later. Many children begin toilet training between ages two and three, but there is no single deadline that applies to every child.

Learning to use the toilet is more complicated than simply telling a child to go to the bathroom. A child has to recognize what their body is telling them, understand what that feeling means, communicate their needs, get to the bathroom, manage their clothing, and feel comfortable enough to use the toilet. Those skills develop over time, and children do not all develop them at the same pace.

Even children who have already made progress with toilet training can experience setbacks. This is sometimes called toileting regression. A child who had been using the toilet successfully may begin having accidents again, avoid the bathroom, withhold bowel movements, or struggle with a routine they previously seemed to understand.

Why does that happen?

There can be physical explanations, including constipation, painful bowel movements, urinary tract infections, or other medical concerns. Changes in a child’s life can also affect toileting. Moving to a new home, changes in caregivers or routines, family conflict, and emotional stress can all contribute to difficulties with bathroom habits.

The important thing to understand is that an accident does not automatically mean a child is being defiant, deliberately misbehaving, or refusing to learn. Sometimes, the child is still developing the skills needed to manage their body. Sometimes, something physical is happening that they cannot explain. And sometimes, they are trying to adjust to a change that they do not yet have the words or emotional maturity to understand.

The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends responding calmly, looking for possible causes, and consulting a pediatrician when regression occurs so physical concerns can be ruled out. Punishment can create additional stress around toileting and turn a developmental process into a struggle for control.

Now, let’s bring that information back to Jada.

What Was Jada Experiencing?

According to the reporting, Jada had recently moved from Georgia to Illinois and was living apart from her mother. She was in a different household, with different caregivers and a different daily environment. Her surroundings had changed. The people caring for her had changed. Her daily routine had changed, and she was no longer living with her mother.

Think about what that means for a five-year-old.

And this is where I want us to consider grief.

When we talk about grief, we often think about the death of someone we love. But grief can also arise from other significant losses and changes in our lives. A change in living arrangements can mean the temporary loss of familiar surroundings, established routines, everyday interactions, and the comfort of being with someone we are accustomed to having near us.

For a young child, those changes can be especially difficult to understand and process. A child may not have the words to explain that they miss their mother, that they feel unsettled in a new home, or that they want the familiarity of their previous routine. We cannot assume every child will respond in the same way, but we should recognize that changes in a child’s world can carry emotional weight.

And I want to be clear about something. I cannot say that Jada was experiencing grief, and I cannot say that the changes in her environment caused her toileting accidents. I also cannot say whether she was experiencing toileting regression or dealing with an underlying medical concern. The available reporting does not establish those things.

What I can say is that significant changes in a child’s life can affect their emotional well-being, habits, and behavior. Sometimes, what looks like a behavioral problem may be a child’s response to a change they do not yet have the words or developmental understanding to explain.

But I do think we have to consider the possibilities.

Was Jada adjusting to a new environment? Was she experiencing the loss of her familiar daily routine or missing the comfort of being with her mother? Was she struggling emotionally in ways the adults around her did not recognize? Was there a medical concern contributing to her bathroom accidents? Was she frightened, uncomfortable, or struggling to communicate a need?

These are questions that call for patience, observation, and understanding. They are not reasons to assume the worst about a child.

At five years old, Jada may have been able to communicate many things, but that does not mean she could independently identify what she was feeling, explain the impact of such a significant change, or advocate for herself in the way an adult can. Sometimes children communicate distress through changes in their behavior, and it is the responsibility of the adults caring for them to pay attention and try to understand what those changes may be telling them.

Where Was the Support?

Another question I find myself asking is whether Kimberly was contacted about Jada’s difficulties with toileting, and whether the adults involved tried to work together to find a solution. I do not know what conversations took place between them, so I cannot say whether Kimberly was contacted or what she knew about the situation.

But I wonder whether the adults could have approached this as a shared caregiving challenge instead of treating it as a reason to punish Jada.

If a child is struggling with something as developmentally common as using the bathroom, the goal should be to help that child succeed. That might mean establishing a routine, watching for signs that the child needs to go, speaking with the child’s parent, or seeking medical advice. It might mean giving the child reassurance and allowing time to adjust.

It should not mean making a child afraid of what will happen if they have an accident.

And I want to talk about Lisa Jones, too.

I watched the body-camera footage and found myself thinking about the position she could have taken in that household. I understand that I do not know everything about what happened behind closed doors, and I cannot speak to every interaction that took place. But the reporting and statements attributed to Lisa raise serious questions about the adults’ responses to Jada’s toileting accidents.

I kept thinking about the different ways an adult could respond to a five-year-old who was struggling.

She could have taken Jada by the hand and walked her to the bathroom. She could have helped her get cleaned up without making her feel ashamed. She could have reassured her that accidents happen and encouraged her to keep trying. She could have asked whether Jada was feeling okay or whether something was making it difficult for her to use the toilet.

She could have been the person who helped make that unfamiliar household feel safe.

And if Jada was having difficulty adjusting to life away from her mother, an adult could have reassured her that she was loved, that she could talk about her feelings, and that she could ask for help when she needed it.

I find myself wondering why that kind of care did not prevail.

Because discipline is not simply about making a child do what an adult wants. Caring for a child means recognizing that children are still developing. It means understanding that their behavior may be communicating a need they cannot fully explain. And it means knowing that an adult’s responsibility is not just to correct a child, but to protect that child’s physical and emotional well-being.

A Child’s Behavior Is Not the Whole Story

One of the things I want people to take away from Jada’s story is that we cannot always understand a child’s behavior by looking at the behavior alone.

A child who has accidents may be struggling with a developmental skill. A child who suddenly starts having accidents again may be reacting to a change, experiencing stress, or dealing with a medical problem. A child who seems resistant may be afraid, confused, embarrassed, or simply not ready to do something consistently.

We cannot assume that every behavior has the same explanation. We have to ask questions. We have to observe. We have to listen. And when a child cannot explain what is happening, we have to be willing to seek help rather than immediately assign blame.

This is especially important when a child is living away from their parent. A change in caregiving arrangements can mean a change in routines, relationships, surroundings, and the people a child turns to for comfort. That does not mean every child will struggle, and it does not mean that a change in placement automatically causes problems. It means that adults need to pay attention to how a child is adjusting and respond to that child’s individual needs.

Jada deserved that attention.

She deserved adults who would look for the reason behind her struggles rather than treating those struggles as a personal offense. She deserved patience while she learned and reassurance when she made mistakes. She deserved to be treated like a five-year-old child, because that is exactly what she was.

Let’s Remember Jada

As I reflect on Jada’s story, I keep thinking about how much responsibility we place in the hands of the adults who care for children. We trust family members, caregivers, and other adults to step in when we cannot be there ourselves. We trust that they will recognize a child’s needs, protect them from harm, and provide care when a child is unable to care for themselves.

That trust matters.

And when a child is struggling, we have to remember that the child is not the adult in the situation. The child does not have the same understanding, emotional regulation, power, or ability to change their circumstances. The adult does.

I do not know everything about Jada’s life before she moved to Illinois. I do not know the full history of the relationships between the adults in her family, and I will not pretend to know what the available reporting does not tell us. But I do know that no child should have to live in fear of being hurt for having a bathroom accident.

Jada’s story deserves more than a headline. It deserves reflection on how we understand childhood development, how we respond when children struggle, and what it means to be entrusted with another person’s child.

It also reminds us that grief is not always obvious. Sometimes a change in a child’s life means leaving behind familiar people, places, routines, and comforts. We may not know whether that child is grieving, and we should not assume that we do. But we can make room for the possibility that a change is affecting them emotionally, and we can respond with compassion instead of judgment.

Because a five-year-old should not have to earn patience. A child should not have to prove that they deserve gentleness. And a child should never have to be perfect at something they are still learning in order to be safe.

When a child struggles, the question should never be how much punishment they deserve. The question should be what they need from us.

Let’s remember Jada Moore.

Sources
1. CBS Chicago. Reporting on Jada Moore’s death, her family circumstances, and the allegations in the case.
  https://www.cbsnews.com/chicago/news/park-forest-girl-beating-death/
2. Law&Crime. Reporting on the allegations involving Jada’s grandparents and details reported during the investigation.
  https://lawandcrime.com/crime/shocking-new-details-in-death-of-5-year-old-girl-allegedly-killed-by-her-grandparents-for-pooping-on-herself-after-she-moved-in-with-them-in-hopes-of-a-better-home-life/
3. FOX 32 Chicago. Reporting that includes comments from Jada’s mother.
  https://www.fox32chicago.com/news/mother-speaks-out-after-grandfather-charged-in-death-of-5-year-old-girl-i-look-at-him-as-a-monster
4. ABC7 Chicago. Coverage of Jada’s death and her mother’s comments.
  https://abc7chicago.com/post/park-forest-police-jada-moore-child-abuse-death/13527956/
5. NBC Chicago. Reporting on prosecutors’ accounts of the case.
  https://www.nbcchicago.com/news/local/prosecutors-reveal-horrifying-details-in-beating-death-of-5-year-old-in-park-forest/3189254/
6. Newsweek. Additional reporting on the case and court documents.
  https://www.newsweek.com/grandparents-fatally-beat-5-year-old-over-potty-training-issues-court-docs-1814173
7. WGN-TV. Reporting on the charges in Jada’s death.
  https://wgntv.com/news/south-suburbs/suburban-grandparents-charged-with-murder-in-death-of-5-year-old-granddaughter/
8. Face2Face Africa. Additional reporting on Jada’s death.
  https://face2faceafrica.com/article/5-year-old-beaten-to-death-by-grandparents-for-defecating-on-herself-police-say
9. New York Post. Additional coverage of the allegations.
  https://nypost.com/2023/07/20/couple-accused-of-killing-granddaughter-for-soiling-herself/
10. Lives Cut Short. Memorial page for Jada Moore.
  https://livescutshort.org/the-children/il_23_418-jada-moore/
11. NewsOne. Commentary on Jada Moore and child protection services.
  https://newsone.com/4655304/jada-moore-child-protection-services/
12. NewsOne. Reporting about the fundraising appeal following Jada’s death.
  https://newsone.com/4656505/jada-moore-gofundme/
Child development and toilet training
1. American Academy of Pediatrics. “How to Tell When Your Child Is Ready.”
  https://healthychildren.org/English/ages-stages/toddler/toilet-training/Pages/How-to-Tell-When-Your-Child-is-Ready.aspx
2. American Academy of Pediatrics. “Potty Training Regression.” Discusses regression, possible physical causes, and changes in a child’s environment.
  https://www.healthychildren.org/English/ages-stages/toddler/toilet-training/Pages/Regression.aspx
3. American Academy of Pediatrics. “Emotional Issues and Potty Training Problems.” Discusses emotional concerns and how changes in a child’s life can affect toileting.
  https://www.healthychildren.org/English/ages-stages/toddler/toilet-training/pages/Emotional-Issues-and-Bathroom-Problems.aspx
4. American Academy of Pediatrics. “Stages of Toilet Training: Different Skills, Different Schedules.”
  https://www.healthychildren.org/English/ages-stages/toddler/toilet-training/Pages/Stages-of-Toilet-Training-Different-Skills-Different-Schedules.aspx
The Imaginary Friend: Where Curiosity Meets Psychology

October 14, 2026

Written by Tiff | A Grief Moment

Recently, I had a conversation with a friend who shared that she had an imaginary friend when she was a child. That conversation stayed with me and made me think. I started looking inward, thinking about my own childhood, and questioning why I never had an imaginary friend.

Naturally, I began to assess both of our lives. My friend was an only child who sometimes had to spend time alone while her mother worked. I grew up as one of four children and often wished I had the house to myself when my parents would go away. I wondered whether these differences had anything to do with our experiences, or whether there was more to it than just that.

So many questions filled my head, but honestly, I just didn’t know.

Over the years, I watched movies where imaginary friends were portrayed as something frightening or connected to something being wrong. But I began to wonder how much of that portrayal reflects what we actually know about the psychology behind imaginary companions.

Why do some children have them while others don’t? What is happening developmentally when a child creates an imaginary companion? And is it always just a part of imaginative play, or could it sometimes serve another purpose?

As I sat with these questions, my thoughts went a little further. I started thinking about children who experience difficult things at a young age. A child might have to change schools, move away from friends, adjust to a separation in the family, or experience the death of someone they love. These experiences are different, but each can bring changes that a child may not always know how to explain or process.

It’s also important to remember that every child is different. How one child copes with a particular experience may look very different from how another child copes with that same experience.

This made me wonder whether an imaginary companion could sometimes offer a child comfort or a sense of familiarity during difficult times. Could imagination be one way some children navigate experiences they are still learning how to understand? And what, if anything, does the research tell us about imaginary companions when it comes to coping with challenges, trauma, or loss?

I do need to be clear that these are questions I’m exploring, not conclusions I’ve reached. I don’t know that an imaginary friend serves as a coping mechanism for a child experiencing loss, and I don’t want to make that connection simply because it seems possible to me. I want to understand what researchers have found, what the evidence supports, and what we still have yet to learn.

As someone who is drawn to psychology and the experiences that shape us, I find myself increasingly curious about the things we sometimes overlook, assume we already understand, or possibly write off as normal. These conversations remind me that there can be so much more to a subject than what we see on the surface.

I naturally decided to look deeper.

When a child’s world keeps changing

Imagine a child growing up in a military family. Because of a parent’s service, the family may move several times throughout the child’s life. Each move can mean a new home, a new school, new classmates, and a new environment to learn.

Adults may understand why a move is necessary. They may even see it as an opportunity for the family. But a child can understand why a move happens and still struggle with what it means for their own life.

Just imagine having to introduce yourself over and over again to new classmates and neighbors. Imagine being that new student, having to learn new classroom routines, figure out where and who to sit with at lunch, and work out how to make new friends. Over and over again, just as you begin to feel comfortable, your life changes again.

Of course, not every military child experiences these transitions in the same way. Some children enjoy the adventure and adapt well, while others may find repeated changes more difficult. The point is not to assume that moving is harmful to every child, but to consider how differently children can experience the same circumstances.

When so much in a child’s outside world changes, what happens in their inner world?

Could an imaginary companion sometimes provide a sense of familiarity when everything else feels unfamiliar? Could a child imagine a friend who is always available to play, talk, or share an adventure, even when real-life friendships have been interrupted by another move?

These are possibilities worth exploring, but we cannot assume that children who move frequently are more likely to create imaginary companions or that an imaginary companion necessarily makes adjusting to a new environment easier.

Still, the question stays with me: Can imagination sometimes offer a child a little stability, continuity, and support in a life that keeps changing?

What about the world a child wishes they had?

Now, let’s consider another possibility.

What about a child who wishes they had a brother or sister? What about a child who has siblings but wishes they had a closer relationship with them? Or a child who longs for a relationship with a mother or father they have never known, or who wishes the relationship they have with a parent were different?

Not every only child feels that something is missing. Not every child with a difficult family relationship feels alone. Children find connection, support, and belonging in different ways. But some children do experience a longing for relationships or experiences they wish were part of their lives.

Could an imaginary companion sometimes become part of how a child explores those wishes?

Could a child imagine someone who listens to them, shares their interests, makes them feel included, or is simply there when they want company? What about a child who has never known a nurturing relationship with a parent? Could an imagined relationship give that child a way to explore ideas of care, protection, or connection?

I want to be careful here. We should not assume that a child who has an absent parent creates an imaginary companion to replace that parent. Nor should we assume that a child who wishes for a sibling must feel lonely or that an imaginary friend is evidence of an unmet emotional need.

What interests me is the question itself: Could a child’s imagination sometimes reflect not only the life they experience, but also the relationships and experiences they wish they had?

This also brings me to a broader question about loss.

We often think of loss as something we once had and no longer have. A friendship ends. A family moves away. A loved one dies. A loved one becomes ill. A familiar home or school becomes part of the past.

But can a person also grieve something they hoped for but never had? Can a child feel sadness about a relationship they wish were different? A family experience they long for? Or a sense of security they have not experienced?

Not every unmet wish is grief, and I don’t want to blur that distinction. Longing, disappointment, unmet emotional needs, and grief are related questions, but they are not interchangeable. I want to understand what psychology says about these experiences before deciding exactly how to describe them.

What really interests me is the possibility that a child’s inner world may hold more than memories of what happened. It may also hold hopes for what could happen, relationships they imagine, and possibilities they wish were real.

Could an imaginary companion sometimes be part of that inner world?

What does research actually tell us?

One of the things I wanted to understand was whether research has found a connection between imaginary companions and children’s emotional and social experiences. Researchers have studied imaginary companions in relation to children’s imagination, storytelling, social understanding, and coping. Some children describe their companions as friends, sources of entertainment, or sources of social support.

Before going further, I also wanted to understand when imaginary companions tend to emerge. Research has documented them during the preschool years, but children can also have them during the early school years. Ages six and seven are not necessarily the age at which imaginary companions first appear; they are also ages at which children may continue to have them or develop new ones.

In a longitudinal study, Taylor and colleagues examined children’s fantasy experiences and imaginary companions during the school years. Their findings remind us that these experiences can continue beyond the preschool period and that children’s imaginative lives can change as they grow. This made me wonder whether the characteristics or roles of imaginary companions might also differ as children’s developmental abilities and social worlds change.

Erik Erikson’s psychosocial theory offers one way to think about the developmental tasks children may be navigating during these years. During the stage commonly called initiative versus guilt, children increasingly initiate activities, explore their ideas, and use imagination. During industry versus inferiority, school-age children face growing expectations around learning, developing skills, participating in groups, and building a sense of competence.

Could those changing developmental experiences intersect with the ways children imagine and relate to companions? For example, could pretend play provide opportunities to explore responsibility, relationships, or confidence? Could an imagined relationship sometimes feel meaningful to a child who is learning how to navigate friendships?

These are questions, not conclusions. Erikson’s theory does not establish why children create imaginary companions, and the presence of an imaginary companion does not tell us whether a child feels guilty, lacks confidence, or struggles socially.

Research has also explored imaginary companions among children who have experienced difficult circumstances. One example is a 2017 study by Aguiar and colleagues, titled The Imaginary Companions Created by Children Who Have Lived in Foster Care.

This research compared children who had a history of foster care with children from low-income homes. The study included 21 children with foster-care histories and 39 children in a low-income comparison group. Through interviews and information about the children’s imaginary companions, the researchers explored the characteristics of these companions and the roles they appeared to serve in the children’s lives.

The researchers did not find a significant difference in how many children in the two groups had imaginary companions. The children described their imaginary companions in ways that included entertainment, friendship, and social support.

These results give us insight into how children in different circumstances experience and describe their relationships with imaginary companions. However, the findings do not establish that an imaginary companion protects a child from the effects of trauma or improves their adjustment following traumatic experiences.

Other research has examined the relationship between imaginary companions and children’s storytelling. Trionfi and Reese (2009), for example, found that children who engaged in imaginary-companion play produced richer narratives in their study. This finding offers another perspective on the relationship between imaginary companions and children’s imaginative and storytelling abilities, but it does not mean that having an imaginary companion causes stronger storytelling skills.

Researchers have also examined whether the nature of a child’s relationship with an imaginary companion matters. Gleason and Kalpidou (2014) explored imaginary companions in relation to coping and social competence. Their findings suggested that the quality of the relationship could be relevant to children’s coping and social competence. However, the results were associations, not proof that an imaginary companion caused those outcomes.

This brings me back to the questions that motivated me to explore this subject in the first place. If some children describe their imaginary companions as sources of friendship and support, could these relationships sometimes play a role in how they navigate difficult experiences? Could an imaginary companion offer a sense of familiarity when a child’s environment keeps changing? Or could it provide an imagined relationship that feels different from the relationships the child experiences in everyday life?

These are questions that motivate me to research further. The existing findings give us a reason to examine the possible emotional and social roles of imaginary companions, but they do not give us enough information to conclude that every child uses an imaginary companion to cope or that having one necessarily leads to a better outcome.

I want to look more closely at when imaginary companions tend to emerge, what might contribute to their development, when they may fade from a child’s life, and what research has found about their role during periods of stress, loss, and change. I also want to understand whether the relationships children imagine might sometimes reflect something they wish they had, rather than something they once had and lost.

What might we be overlooking?

Perhaps one of the most interesting parts of this subject is that we cannot know what an imaginary companion means simply by observing that one exists.

For one child, it may be a character in an elaborate world of adventures. For another, it may be a familiar playmate. For another, it may be a relationship that the child describes as comforting during a difficult period.

We should not assume that these experiences are the same. We should also avoid deciding that an imaginary companion must represent a missing person, an unmet need, or an experience of loss.

But we can remain curious about the possibilities.

When a child’s circumstances change, how do they make sense of that change? When they wish their life were different, how do they explore that wish? When they experience emotions they cannot yet fully explain, what helps them express or manage those feelings?

Imagination is one part of childhood that researchers continue to examine, and imaginary companions offer one way to explore the relationship between imagination and children’s social and emotional lives.

Perhaps we also need to look beyond whether a child has an imaginary companion and consider what that relationship actually looks like. When did it begin? Does it remain a consistent part of the child’s life, or does it seem to come and go? Does the child talk to the companion, introduce it to others, or keep the relationship private? What does the child say about the companion, and what role does it appear to play in their world?

These questions matter because having an imaginary companion is not one uniform experience. The age at which it appears, the way the child interacts with it, and the meaning the child gives it may all offer different pieces of information. We cannot assume that those differences reveal a problem, but we should not overlook them when trying to understand the child’s experience.

And then I find myself returning to the conversation that started all of this. My friend had an imaginary companion, and I didn’t. Neither experience, by itself, tells us everything about our childhoods, but the difference gave me a reason to ask questions I had never thought to ask before.

I began by wondering why some children have imaginary friends and others don’t. I find myself asking a much broader question: What can a child’s imagined world tell us about the many ways children experience, understand, and explore the world around them?

I don’t have a simple answer to that question, and I don’t think one explanation will fit every child.

What I do know is that curiosity asks us to look a little closer before we decide we understand.

Sometimes, the most important part of understanding a child’s world is not assuming we already know what it means.

Give yourself a moment to pause, reflect, and process.

References

Aguiar, N. R., Mottweiler, C. M., Taylor, M., & Fisher, P. A. (2017). The imaginary companions created by children who have lived in foster care. Imagination, Cognition and Personality, 36(4), 340–355. https://doi.org/10.1177/0276236617700590

Erikson, E. H. (1963). Childhood and society (2nd ed.). W. W. Norton & Company.

Gleason, T. R., & Kalpidou, M. (2014). Imaginary companions and young children’s coping and competence. Social Development. https://doi.org/10.1111/sode.12078

Taylor, M., Carlson, S. M., Maring, B. L., Gerow, L., & Charley, C. (2004). The characteristics and correlates of fantasy in school-age children: Imaginary companions, impersonation, and social understanding. Developmental Psychology, 40(6), 1173–1187. https://doi.org/10.1037/0012-1649.40.6.1173

Trionfi, G., & Reese, E. (2009). A good story: Children with imaginary companions create richer narratives. Child Development, 80(4), 1301–1313. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-8624.2009.01333.x

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Beyond the Losses We Could See: Collective Grief During COVID-19

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Let’s Talk About Jada Moore

The Imaginary Friend: Where Curiosity Meets Psychology