They held their heads up as best they could.
And then, when the weight became too much, they bowed their heads in prayer.
It has been just over two weeks since 15-year-old Will Roberts passed away following complications from his battle with bone cancer.
Only one week has passed since his family laid him to rest.
For the rest of the world, time continues moving forward.
Days pass. People return to work. Phones ring. Meals are made. Life continues with its ordinary rhythm.
But for Jason and Brittney Roberts, their daughter Charlie, and everyone who loved Will, time probably feels different now.
It is measured in empty spaces.
In photographs.
In memories that arrive without warning.
In moments when someone instinctively reaches for a phone to call or text Will before reality comes rushing back:
He is no longer there to answer.
On Sunday night, the Roberts family sat together again.
In front of them were cards and letters that had arrived at their home over the past weeks and months.
Some came from friends.
Some came from people who knew Will.
And many came from complete strangers who had followed the 15-year-old’s courageous journey from afar.
Jason and Brittney opened them one by one.
They took turns reading the messages aloud.
Every prayer.
Every word of encouragement.
Every reminder that somewhere, someone who had never even met their son had been touched by his story.
Will is gone.
But in that room, surrounded by letters, tears, memories and prayer, his family was reminded of something powerful:
Will’s impact did not end when his life did.
This Family Has Known the Pain of Losing a Child Before
The grief the Roberts family carries today is not the first unimaginable loss they have endured.
Thirteen years ago, when Will was only about 2 years old, his little sister Darby Kate passed away at just 68 days old.
Sixty-eight days.
A lifetime far too short.
Now, more than a decade later, Jason and Brittney have been forced to do something no parent should ever have to do once, much less twice.
They have buried another child.
This time, it was Will.
The little boy they watched grow.
The son whose personality filled their home.
The teenager whose battle with cancer inspired thousands of people.
Fifteen years was nowhere near enough.
But fifteen years was enough to create countless memories.
And now his family must learn how to live in a world where they can still hold those memories, but cannot hold the boy who created them.
A Mother’s Prayer After a Long Sunday
Late Sunday night, Brittney shared what was in her heart through prayer.
She thanked God for the blessings her family had received at church.
She thanked Him for the complete strangers they had met simply because of Will.
She gave thanks for being able to watch Will’s friend Darren Hallum get baptized and for the fellowship the families shared afterward.
And then she thanked God for the cards.
The letters.
The messages.
The words written by people who wanted the Roberts family to know they had not been forgotten.
Brittney and Jason sat together and opened the letters, taking turns reading them back and forth.
For a grieving family, those pieces of paper are more than mail.
Every letter is evidence that Will was seen.
That he mattered.
That he was loved.
That the short 15 years he spent in this world reached much farther than the places he physically traveled.
There are people who never met Will but prayed for him.
People who never spoke to his family but cried when they learned he had passed away.
People who watched the way he fought and decided they wanted to live differently because of him.
Cancer could take Will’s body.
It could never take that away.
Grief Does Not Look the Same for Everyone
One of the most honest parts of Brittney’s prayer was not a request for her family to remain strong every moment.
She did not pretend faith had erased their pain.
Instead, she acknowledged something many grieving families eventually discover:
People grieve differently.
Brittney knows difficult days are still ahead.
There may be moments when she and Jason do not understand what the other person needs.
One may want to talk about Will while the other needs silence.
One may need to cry while the other copes by staying busy.
One may feel strong in the morning and completely fall apart by evening.
There may be days when they believe they are beginning to find their footing, only for a memory, a song, a photograph or an ordinary object to bring the grief rushing back.
So Brittney prayed that when those moments come, God will be the hand between them.
She asked for grace.
For understanding.
For the ability to grow through grief together instead of allowing grief to pull them apart.
It is an incredibly human prayer.
Because losing a child does not only leave an empty bedroom or an empty chair.
It changes the entire shape of a family.
Then Charlie Asked Her Mom to Come Upstairs
Later that night came a moment that revealed the reality of grief more powerfully than almost anything else could.
Charlie asked her mother to come upstairs.
She was crying.
She told Brittney she was struggling with sadness.
Then she explained why.
Charlie had thought of something funny.
Something she wanted to share with her brother.
For a split second, instinct took over.
She thought about texting Will.
It was something she had probably done countless times before.
See something funny.
Think of Will.
Send it to him.
Simple.
Ordinary.
Automatic.
But then came the reminder she never wanted.
She could not text Will anymore.
That may be one of the cruelest parts of losing someone.
Grief does not only appear during funerals, anniversaries or major family moments.
Sometimes it finds you in the middle of an ordinary thought.
You hear a joke they would have loved.
You see something you know would make them laugh.
You pick up your phone.
You almost press their name.
And then reality returns.
For Charlie, that person was her brother.
Someone who had once been only a text message away.
Now the distance between them could no longer be measured in miles.
Somehow, Rebel Made Them Laugh
Brittney sat with Charlie.
They talked.
They cried.
They tried to work through that painful moment together.
Then Rebel showed up.
The family dog jumped onto the bed and began doing what Brittney described as the kind of things only Rebel would do.
Wild.
Aggravating.
Completely inappropriate for such an emotional moment.
And somehow, exactly what they needed.
They laughed.
For a moment, tears shared space with laughter.
And almost immediately, they thought about Will.
Brittney said Rebel has the same candid, aggravating ways that reminded them so much of him.
Perhaps that is one of the strange ways memory begins to change after someone dies.
At first, almost every reminder hurts.
Then, slowly, some of those same reminders begin to bring smiles too.
The grief does not disappear.
The love simply begins finding new ways to show itself.
Sometimes through a photograph.
Sometimes through a familiar phrase.
Sometimes through a song.
And on that Sunday night, through a mischievous dog jumping onto the bed at exactly the right moment.
E’
Then Jason Knocked on the Door
After Rebel finally settled down, there was a knock.
Jason came into the room.
He saw his wife and daughter hurting over the same person he was grieving too.
And then he did something that deeply moved Brittney.
He got down beside them.
And he prayed.
Listening to her husband pray reminded Brittney of just how much weight Jason is carrying.
Because Jason is not simply the father trying to keep his family together.
Jason lost his son too.
He has his own grief.
His own memories.
His own moments when the reality of Will’s absence must feel impossible to accept.
He may have nights when he wishes this entire chapter were only a nightmare from which he could wake.
But when his daughter was hurting, Jason still walked into the room.
He still got down beside her.
He still prayed.
He still tried to lead his family through one more painful night.
There is something profoundly powerful about that image.
A father whose own heart is broken kneeling beside his grieving family and finding enough strength to pray.
“He Thinks I Am His Strength”
Brittney wrote that Jason is her strength.
But then she shared something beautiful.
Jason believes Brittney is his strength right now.
Perhaps that is how families survive grief this enormous.
Not because one person is always strong.
But because when one person cannot stand, someone else somehow finds enough strength to hold them up.
And the next day, the roles may reverse.
No one can be strong all the time.
No one should have to be.
Love does not require one person to carry everything.
Love says:
If you cannot stand today, I will stand for you.
If I cannot stand tomorrow, you will stand for me.
And if neither of us can stand, then perhaps we will kneel together.
That is what the Roberts family is doing.
Will Knew Exactly Who His Daddy Was
In her prayer, Brittney reflected on the relationship between Will and his father.
She believes Will knew exactly who his daddy was.
He knew Jason was someone he could depend on.
Someone who would be there.
Someone who would fight beside him.
Someone who would continue taking care of the people Will loved.
And Brittney believes that if Will could see his family now, he would recognize that his father is still doing exactly what Will trusted him to do.
Taking care of his mother.
Taking care of Charlie.
Trying to hold the family together.
And reminding them to keep their eyes on the faith that carried them through Will’s battle.
Jason could not save his son from the cancer that ultimately took him.
But he can continue honoring his role as Will’s father in another way.
He can keep loving the people Will loved.
The Letters Keep Coming
Over the past weeks and months, cards and letters have continued arriving for the Roberts family.
There is something incredibly meaningful about a stranger sitting down, finding a card or piece of paper, and taking time to write to a grieving family.
They cannot bring Will back.
They cannot make the house feel less empty.
They cannot erase the moment Charlie remembers she can no longer text her brother.
But every letter says something important:
We still remember Will.
For parents who have lost a child, knowing the world still remembers their child’s name can carry enormous meaning.
One of the quiet fears of grief is that time will move forward and everyone else will eventually forget.
Life continues.
Other stories replace theirs.
People return to their routines.
But a mother and father never stop being the parents of the child they lost.
Every card arriving at the Roberts home offers a reminder that Will has not simply disappeared from other people’s hearts.
His story is still being told.
His name is still being spoken.
His life still matters.
Be Like Will
Throughout Will’s journey, one message grew alongside his story:
#BeLikeWill
It is more than a hashtag.
It has become a challenge.
A way of carrying forward the qualities people saw in Will during the hardest days of his life.
Be courageous when life becomes frightening.
Be grateful even when circumstances are difficult.
Care about other people even when you are carrying your own pain.
Hold onto faith when the future is uncertain.
Keep going when you still have a reason to fight.
Love your family deeply.
Will lived only 15 years.
But the meaning of a life cannot always be measured by the number of birthdays someone reaches.
Some people live long lives and touch a relatively small circle.
Will, in only 15 years, inspired thousands to pray.
He inspired strangers to write letters.
He caused parents to hug their children tighter.
He reminded people that courage is not the absence of fear.
Sometimes courage is simply deciding to face one more day.
That is a legacy.
Two Weeks Is Only the Beginning of Grief
It has only been a little over two weeks.
In many ways, the Roberts family’s journey through grief has barely begun.
There will be many firsts.
The first birthday without Will.
The first holiday season.
The first family celebration where his absence is impossible to ignore.
The first time a favorite song comes on unexpectedly.
The first time someone cooks something Will loved.
There may be more moments when Charlie reaches for her phone.
More moments when Brittney thinks she hears her son’s voice.
More moments when Jason walks into a room and tries to be strong while his own heart is breaking.
Grief has no deadline.
Parents do not simply “move on” from losing a child.
They learn, somehow, to carry the love and the absence together.
“The Sadness Was Heavy, but the Blessings Were Still There”
Near the end of her prayer, Brittney thanked God for another day.
A day when the sadness was heavy.
But the blessings were still there.
Perhaps no words better describe where this family stands right now.
They are not pretending everything is okay.
It is not.
Their son died.
Charlie lost her brother.
Jason and Brittney have now endured the loss of another child.
There is no way to make that painless.
But even in the middle of their grief, they are still looking for moments of grace.
A friend of Will being baptized.
A letter from a stranger.
A husband walking into a bedroom to pray with his wife and daughter.
A dog making them laugh when they thought they could only cry.
A memory of Will arriving unexpectedly.
Another day the family managed to make it through together.
Those blessings do not replace Will.
They do not erase grief.
Perhaps they simply remind the family that even inside the darkest chapter of their lives, love has not disappeared.
Keep Saying His Name
Thousands of people stood beside the Roberts family throughout Will’s journey.
They prayed through treatments.
Celebrated small victories.
Worried through setbacks.
And mourned when his battle came to an end.
Now that there are no more hospital updates and no more treatments to pray through, the family still needs that love.
Perhaps now more than ever.
Will’s battle with cancer has ended.
But his family’s journey of learning how to live without him has only begun.
So continue praying for Brittney.
For Jason.
For Charlie.
For everyone who loved Will.
Pray that they give each other grace when grief looks different from one person to another.
Pray that when one of them cannot stand, another finds enough strength to help.
And when none of them can stand, may they continue to find comfort in bowing their heads together.
Keep talking about Will.
Keep remembering him.
Keep carrying forward the things his life inspired.
Because perhaps the most meaningful way to honor someone is not simply to say we remember them.
It is to allow the way they lived to change the way we live.
Will Roberts was given only 15 years.
But in those 15 years, he left footprints far larger than his age would suggest.
And on that Sunday night, as Jason, Brittney and Charlie sat among letters from strangers, tears, unexpected laughter and a father’s prayer, perhaps they received another reminder:
Will was no longer sitting in that room.
But the love was still there.
The stories were still there.
The people remembering him were still there.
And everything good he placed into the lives of others was still moving forward.
The sadness was heavy.
But the love was still there.
Tomorrow, they will try again to lift their heads.
And when the weight becomes too much, they will bow them in prayer.
One day at a time, they will continue learning how to live, love and remember the 15-year-old boy who inspired so many people to become a little stronger, a little kinder, and a little more grateful for the people they still have beside them.
