When the Sandcastle Gets Washed Away
Parenting through grief, rebuilding after loss, and learning to reimagine the future
NB I’m trialling something new with these posts. I want to offer an audio version as well. This is my first attempt - I’d love some feedback if you get time to listen.
Every time I record a conversation for the Resilient Souls podcast, I walk away with more than just words. I leave having been part of something that feels a little sacred. That’s what a personal story is — sacred. And because my own story has had its challenges too, I often feel like I’ve made some sort of soul connection that comes from talking with someone who truly gets it.
That’s how I felt after my conversation with Felicity Baird — a teacher, wife, and mother who walked a journey a lot like mine. As she spoke about losing her husband and helping her children through that fog of grief, her voice cracked with emotion at times. And as it did, I felt my own pain again — an ache I recognise easily, because it still sits in a corner of my heart and surfaces every now and then.
Unless you’ve lived through this kind of loss, it’s hard to explain the complexity of trying to help your children make sense of their world when yours and theirs has just shattered.
"Sometimes you just have to put the broken pieces down — not fix them, not even understand them — just set them down and rest for a while."
— Unknown
At the end of our conversation, Felicity shared a story that stayed with me. She’d read a book that used the image of sandcastles at the beach — you know the ones we build together as a family, side by side, piling sand into towers, using whatever we can find to create bridges, and pouring water into freshly dug moats. There’s creativity and laughter, shells for decoration, and seaweed or feathers for a bit of personality. And then — sometimes without warning — a wave surges up the shore and wipes it all away in an instant. The castle is gone. All that’s left is a soggy, broken mess.
Felicity used this illustration to talk with her daughters after their father died. She told them something like this. ‘We built a sandcastle with your dad — but a wave came and washed it away. And now, as painful as it is, we can’t rebuild that same sand castle. We need to start again — to build a new one. One we never wanted to build.’
It was hard to hear her share that — because it triggered a memory for me of trying to explain things to my kids, helping them to see there was still a future, even if it looked different to the one we’d been building. Life sometimes sends waves we never see coming. Other times, we see them on the horizon and desperately hope the tide will turn. But no matter how much we hope or plead — or even pray — some waves can’t be held back. And when they arrive, they turn everything we’ve spent years building upside down.
When that happens, we’re faced with a choice. We can sit in the wreckage, staring back at what we’ve lost—or, when the time is right — we can do our best to gather ourselves, however slowly, however shakily, and begin to build again.
Felicity made the choice to help her daughters rebuild. Not by pretending everything was okay, but by helping them see that even in the darkest moments, a new chapter could begin. It wasn’t the chapter they were hoping for — not even close — but it was one where light and laughter could return, without ever denying the pain of the past.
We all face moments like this — moments where life comes at us in ways we never planned and certainly never wanted. I remember a friend once telling me, “It’s good to make plans. Just make sure you write them in pencil.” I didn’t quite understand what he meant at the time. But not long after, something happened — and suddenly, I understood. I’ve never forgotten it. That idea has served me well, as my plans have been erased and rewritten more times than I can count.
If you’re reading this, chances are some of your plans have had to be rubbed out. Some of your dreams probably haven’t come true. Some stories didn’t get the ending you prayed for. And no matter how hard you hoped, the tide didn’t turn back.
I’ve wished things had been different for us — that I could have spared my children, and myself, the pain of what we’ve walked through. But wishing doesn’t rebuild a sandcastle. And dreaming, as important as it is, doesn’t stop the wave.
"Telling the truth about our pain opens a door for our kids to be honest about theirs."
— Brené Brown-inspired phrasing
What has helped me is learning to reimagine.
I used to joke that I wanted a different kind of job title — something like ‘Imagineer’, someone who builds what they dream. These days, I’ve had to change it a little — by necessity and by choice — and now I refer to myself as a ‘Re-Imagineer’.
Someone who dares to dream again after the original vision crumbles.
Someone who rebuilds when the plans that had been written get rubbed out.
Someone who starts imagining a new future, even when the present still hurts.
That’s what we’re trying to do at Resilient Souls. It’s what emerged from Felicity’s story — and what I’ve seen in so many of the people who’ve joined me on the podcast. People who never asked for the storm they faced, but who’ve chosen to keep building anyway.
There’s strength in that. And there’s beauty — even when the new sandcastle looks nothing like the one we started.
I’m learning that this is what resilience really is. Not pretending it didn’t hurt. Not rushing to find silver linings. But discovering a way forward in the fog. Choosing to dance — even when the music has stopped and joy feels like a slippery piece of soap you just can’t hold on to.
That’s why I called my own story Learning to Dance in the Darkness. Even when wave after wave came, I did what I could to keep going — even when I didn’t feel like it. I did my best to keep moving — aching, grieving, stumbling — but still moving. Waiting for the light to come out again.
So, if you're in the middle of your own wave, I want you to know this: you’re not alone. You may not be able to rebuild the old sandcastle — but you can build something new.
You can dance, even in the dark.
Keep going. Dream again. Build differently. Dance anyway.
Join me — and the many others I’ve spoken with — who have become Re-Imagineers.
Even if it hurts. Even if it feels impossible. Even while you miss the old sandcastle.
You don’t have to do this alone. We have a community who gets it.
If you haven’t already, I want you to know—you’re really welcome to join us.
"There’s nothing wrong with rebuilding on the same sand. You just build differently next time."
— Unknown
🎧 You can listen to the episode with Felicity Baird that inspired this post - click here
A Question/s to Reflect on.
In what ways has your response to a past wave — a loss, change, or disruption — shaped how you show up for your kids, or for yourself, today?
Was there a wave you faced as a child that changed the way you dream? What helped you keep going — or what might have helped you more?
From Reflection to Action:
(These are just suggestions – maybe choose 1 or 2 to try)
Name the ‘Wave’: Take 5–10 minutes to write down what your “wave” was — the event that turned things upside down. Don’t just list the facts; reflect on what it felt like. Call it what it was. Naming loss can be a helpful first step toward rebuilding.
NB: This could be a private journal entry, a prayer, or something you eventually share with someone you trust.Don’t Rebuild Too Soon: Resist the urge to leap into rebuilding. Sit with the ruins for a while. If you’re supporting someone else, ask what they need — and be okay if the answer is “nothing yet.”
NB: A few suggestions for how to approach someone whose life has been hit by a wave:Instead of saying, “Let me know if you need anything,” try, “Would it help if I just sat with you in this for a bit?”
Don’t play the role of ‘imagineer’ in their story or try to convince them good days are ahead. Let them come to that in their own time — and support them when they begin to reimagine life after the ruins.
Use the Sandcastle Story with Your Kids: If you're parenting through loss, consider using Felicity’s sandcastle metaphor with your children. Adapt the language to their age — then ask what kind of new and different sandcastle they think they might want to build, when they're ready. This gives them a way to process the change without pressure or false hope.
Create a ‘New Sand Castle’ Ritual: If you're starting again — even slowly — mark the moment. Light a candle. Plant something. Take a photo of the beach. Write a word in the sand. Small physical actions can honour the past while gently signalling the start of something new.
Be a Heart with Ears: If you’re supporting someone, focus more on listening than solving. They don’t need your blueprint — just your presence.
Ask yourself: Am I showing up with empathy, or with an agenda?
NB: For more on this, see this article or listen to Ashley Mielke’s episode, where she unpacks what really helps in times of grief.Identify One Small Dream you might want to now Reimagine: When you're ready, name one small thing you used to hope for. Now tweak it. What would a reimagined version of that dream look like? Start small — a daily rhythm, something creative to try, a connection you want to rebuild.
Mark the Dates That Matter: If you’re supporting someone else, quietly take note of anniversaries — the day the ‘wave’ hit, birthdays, holidays, etc. Reach out on those days with a simple message that says, “I remember this was a big day for you.” Not to fix, just to stand beside them.
Tune in to the Resilient Souls podcast to hear others who’ve been hit by a wave — and dared to rebuild a different sandcastle.
Click here to listen to the episode with Felicity that inspired this post.
Click here to find other stories of reimagining and rebuilding.
Bible verses for finding your way through grief — or walking beside someone who is:
Isaiah 61:4 (NIV): “They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated; they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations.”
Psalm 34:18 (CEV): “The Lord is there to rescue all who are discouraged and have given up hope.”
Isaiah 43:19 (CEV): “I am creating something new. There it is! Do you see it? I have put roads in deserts, streams in thirsty lands.”
2 Corinthians 12:9 (NLT): “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.”
Romans 12:15 (NLT): “Be happy with those who are happy, and weep with those who weep.”