There are moments in foster care that no training prepares you for.

The phone call from your caseworker. The quiet conversation at the kitchen table. The look on a child’s face when they learn that someone they love—someone from their first family—is gone.

A foster mom in my community recently reached out to me with this exact situation, and it reminded me how isolating these moments can feel. You’re navigating something incredibly heavy, often without a roadmap, and wondering if you’re doing it right.

I want to share some guidance that I’ve gathered from fellow foster parents, trauma-informed resources, and conversations with families who have walked this road. Not as someone who has all the answers, but as someone who believes we’re better when we learn together.

If you’re facing this right now, take a breath. You don’t have to have all the answers. You just have to show up.

Understanding Grief Through a Trauma Lens

Here’s what we need to understand first: foster children experience grief differently.

For most of us, death is a singular loss. Devastating, yes. But it exists within a life that has otherwise felt stable and secure.

For a child in foster care, the death of a biological family member lands on top of layers of loss they’ve already endured. The loss of their home. Their neighborhood. Their school. Their siblings, in some cases. The daily presence of the people who brought them into this world.

So when Grandma passes away, or an uncle dies unexpectedly, or—in the most heartbreaking cases—a parent is gone, your foster child isn’t just grieving that one person. They may be grieving everything all over again.

This is called “compounded grief,” and it’s important to recognize it for what it is.

You might see behaviors that don’t seem to match the situation. Rage over something small. Complete emotional shutdown. Regression to younger behaviors. Nightmares returning after months of peaceful sleep.

This isn’t manipulation. This isn’t “acting out.” This is a child whose nervous system is overwhelmed, trying desperately to cope with feelings too big for their small body to hold.

Give them grace. Give yourself grace, too.

First Steps: What to Do When You Get the News

When you first learn about the death, take a moment before you tell your foster child. Not a long moment—they deserve to hear this from someone who loves them, not through the grapevine—but enough time to steady yourself.

You cannot pour from an empty cup. You cannot be their calm if you are in chaos.

Pray. Take three deep breaths. Call your support person if you need to process for five minutes first. Then go to your child.

When you tell them, keep it simple and honest. Use real words. Children need clarity, not euphemisms that confuse them.

“I have something really sad to tell you. Your grandma died today. That means her body stopped working and she’s not alive anymore.”

Then stop talking.

I know that feels counterintuitive. We want to fill the silence, to comfort, to explain. But children need space to absorb information that changes their world. Let them lead the next moment.

They might cry. They might stare blankly. They might ask to go play. All of these responses are normal. None of them are wrong.

And please hear this: their initial reaction is not an indicator of how much they loved that person or how deeply this will affect them. Shock does strange things to all of us.

Creating Space for All the Feelings

In the days and weeks that follow, your job is to be a safe container for whatever emotions arise.

This means making space for feelings that might make you uncomfortable.

Your foster child might express anger at the person who died. They might say things like “I hate her” or “Good, I didn’t like him anyway.” Before you rush to correct this, remember—anger is often the bodyguard of deeper pain. It feels safer than sadness. Let them have it.

They might also express complicated feelings about their biological family that you don’t know how to navigate. Grief has a way of stirring up everything. You might hear longing for parents they’ve been removed from, resentment about their situation, or confusion about why life has been so hard.

Listen more than you speak.

You don’t have to fix their feelings. You don’t have to make sense of their story for them. You just have to be present and let them know that all of their feelings are allowed in your home.

“It makes sense that you’re angry.”

“It’s okay to miss her.”

“You can feel two things at once. That’s not weird. That’s human.”

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can say is nothing at all. Just sit with them. Let them feel your presence. That alone communicates more than words.

Honoring Their Connection to Their First Family

This is where some foster parents struggle, and I want to be gentle but honest here.

When a biological family member dies, your foster child needs to grieve that person as their person. Not as a stranger. Not as someone from a past chapter that’s closed. Their family.

Even if that family member struggled. Even if there were reasons the child was removed. Even if you have complicated feelings about that person’s role in your child’s story.

Your foster child is allowed to love them anyway.

This might mean facilitating their attendance at the funeral, if appropriate and possible. It might mean helping them create a memory box or write a letter to the person who died. It might mean looking at photos together and letting your child share stories.

It might mean biting your tongue when they share a memory that paints their family in a positive light.

Let them have their love. Let them have their grief. It doesn’t diminish your role in their life. It honors the fullness of who they are.

Practical Ways to Support a Grieving Foster Child

Beyond emotional support, there are tangible things you can do to help:

Maintain routines. When everything feels uncertain, predictability is comfort. Keep bedtimes, mealtimes, and daily rhythms as consistent as possible. This is not the week to introduce major changes.

Watch for grief triggers. Holidays, birthdays, the anniversary of the death, even random Tuesday afternoons can bring waves of grief crashing back. Pay attention to the calendar and to subtle shifts in behavior that might signal your child is struggling.

Offer sensory comfort. Weighted blankets, favorite stuffed animals, physical closeness—these things help regulate an overwhelmed nervous system. Don’t underestimate the power of a hug held a little longer.

Be patient with regression. If your ten-year-old suddenly wants to sleep with the light on or your teenager starts sucking their thumb again, don’t shame them. Grief takes us backward before it lets us move forward. They’ll find their footing again.

Connect them with professional support. A trauma-informed therapist can be invaluable during this season. If your child is already in therapy, make sure their therapist knows about the loss. If they’re not, this might be the time to start.

Take care of yourself. You cannot support a grieving child if you’re running on empty. This is not selfish. This is necessary. Find your own support system and lean on them hard.

The Faith Piece

I know not everyone reading this shares my faith, and that’s okay. But I can’t write about walking through grief without acknowledging where my own strength comes from.

When I don’t have the words, I pray them.

When I don’t know what to do, I ask for wisdom from the One who does.

When a child is drowning in sorrow, I hold onto the promise that God is close to the brokenhearted. That He saves those who are crushed in spirit. That somehow, someway, He can bring beauty from ashes.

I can’t explain away a child’s pain. I won’t try. But I can sit with them in it and trust that we are not alone.

If your foster child has any faith background, let them express it. Let them ask the hard questions about heaven and death and why God let this happen. Don’t rush to give them answers. Sometimes the questions themselves are part of the healing.

The Long Road

Grief is not a problem to be solved. It’s a journey to be walked.

Your foster child might seem fine for weeks and then fall apart at a grocery store because they saw their grandmother’s favorite candy. They might bring up the person who died at random moments for years to come. They might carry this loss with them forever, learning to live with it rather than getting over it.

That’s okay.

Your job is not to make the grief go away. Your job is to make sure they don’t walk through it alone.

And sweet foster mama, that is enough. Your presence is enough. Your imperfect, “I don’t know what I’m doing,” showing-up-anyway love is enough.

Want more support like this?  Join my Foster Mama Lifeline community here.