Her Undefeated Smile

We will lose all we love.

I know we would rather not think about this; I certainly would not. However, we are all losers. Every single one of us. No exceptions.

No one likes losing. It isn’t merely uncomfortable—it’s often excruciating, chipping away at our very foundations. We dislike losing so vehemently that we actually shame others with the “loser” label as a way to separate ourselves from our own nagging failures. But the hard truth is that, in the end, every one of us on this spinning orb will face a final goodbye; and in that sense, we’re all losers.

My family and I lost big last year. We lost Gretchen. The year that has followed has majored on grief in the wake of devastating loss with all of its twists and turns, shapes, and shadows. I have learned a lot about loss.

Its a Continuum

Loss isn’t always the same, and it doesn’t affect us in the same ways. It exists on a continuum, encompassing extremes that make it both deeply complex and profoundly personal. It can be acute, striking suddenly; or it can be ambiguous, lingering without resolution. Sometimes, it is universally felt—a shared human experience; while at other times, it remains intensely personal, touching only one life in its unique, unrepeatable way.

Loss can feel inevitable, something for which we brace ourselves; or it can come as an unexpected blow.
At times, it is ordinary, woven into the fabric of everyday life; other times, it is a singular event that changes us forever.
It might be trivial—a momentary inconvenience—or existential, shaking the very foundations of who we are.
Some losses weigh us down like boulders on our chest, while others scatter us like dust in the wind.
Our losses can liberate, break chains we never knew, or suffocate us, stealing our very breath.

But loss doesn’t just impact us; it transforms us. Every loss is a portal that transports us to a new destination. We are simply not in the same place on the back side of loss as we were prior. It’s impossible.

Loss is a conversion, of sorts—an initiation into a new world where old certainties have vanished. In fact, it’s a catalyst that reshapes not only our circumstances but also our identity, because many of our core identities are relational; we know ourselves in relation to others. When we lose "the other," we lose part of who we are.

It Changes Everything

This lossquake can be a tectonic shift that changes our story, rewrites our purpose, and forces us to redefine ourselves. Loss, then, is not only something we endure—it’s a powerful force that reshapes our lives, guiding us, for better or worse, into personal uncharted territory.

The truth is, my family’s painful losing streak began well before Gretchen’s passing. For six years, she lived, well…losing. We lost so much, so often, and in so many ways—big and small—that eventually we stopped keeping count.

In a way, it was merciful, because the sting of each loss simply blended into a general feeling of being beat up and sore. At our lowest points, no one could (or would) blame us for wondering if perhaps we were cursed.

I can definitively say that six years of unrelenting loss would wear on anyone. It grinds you down, shapes you, and leaves its mark. Sometimes, the blows make you stronger; other times, they thin you out. One thing is certain, however: you don’t emerge the same. The question is whether you will be a sore loser or a sour loser.

Her Undefeatable Smile

Gretchen never soured in the midst of her losses.

A funny thing about her is that she really hated having her picture taken. Of course, this feeling only deepened as the cancer and chemo waged its war on her body. Recently, I sorted through my photos of Gretchen from the past few years looking for her secret. I wanted to see if photographic evidence would corroborate my memories. And it did. Despite the physical toll of countless surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation, one thing remained constant: her smile.

She had so many smiles. In our 24 years, I never tired of finding ways to make her smile. Her beaming smile had such a powerful and profound effect in our home. It was a beacon saying, “You are loved. You belong. You are special. There is hope. There is always tomorrow.” It was her smile that assured us everything was going to be okay.

The brilliant 80s rock ballad, When I See You Smile by Bad English is about as close to autobiographical as you can get (Gretchen loved 80s music, so feel free to pause reading and listen to the song).

Losing her smile has been one of the sharpest pains of the year.

You can’t miss the sheer strength of her smile in these photos. So bright—nobody would even guess that in each of these photos Gretchen was living with a terminal diagnosis, always in treatment, always in pain, always feeling gross, always not feeling herself, with no good earthly ending in sight. The last two photos above were taken just days before she passed, in the midst of full liver failure.

I don’t know what to tell you, other than:

Gretchen was undefeatable.

The Last Word

Even though we lose everything, loss does not have to have the last word. Gretchen’s life and smile is proof of that. Behind her smile is where the deepest question of life took shape. Every one of us, facing the truth of our own mortality, needs an answer. We all need a last word that makes sense of the life we’ve been given, grief and loss included.

For Buddha, that answer is impermanence, teaching that death is natural and suffering is simply a consequence of our attachment to things that must eventually pass. Detachment, then, is the solution. If you let go of what you love, suffering will fade with it. This philosophy offers a kind of peace, though it may feel distant, impersonal, and deeply unsatisfying.

For Jesus, the answer is profoundly different. His life and teaching proved that death is an enemy—it’s unnatural and a thief of the life we were meant to live. Jesus’s answer to our grief is not detachment, but rescue through his death and resurrection. He offers hope, victory, and a life that overcomes the finality of the grave. Here, the last word is not goodbye, but resurrection. It’s a promise that even as we lose, we are ultimately not defeated.

The Bible captures this promise beautifully in Revelation 21:4: “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

Gretchen lived according to that hope. She walked through suffering utterly undefeated and rooted in the reality of resurrection. She faced down death with a faith that transcended her earthly losses.