On March 14, 2025, my world changed forever. My dad, the person who had always been my anchor, my guide, and my biggest supporter, was suddenly gone. The loss of a parent is something no one can ever fully prepare for. No matter how much we try to anticipate or come to terms with it, nothing can truly ready you for the emptiness that follows when they’re no longer physically present.

The Initial Shock: The World Stopped and Then Kept Moving

When my dad passed away, it felt like time stood still. Despite knowing his health was declining, I was not prepared for the overwhelming weight of that moment. The first few days felt like a blur. I was surrounded by people, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was trapped in a space where nothing made sense. The world kept turning, but I was stuck in a place where nothing felt real.

That initial shock created a temporary numbness. The pain didn’t fully hit right away. In those first few days, it almost felt like I was in a dream, going through the motions, but never really here. It’s a strange protection, almost like your mind is shielding you from the enormity of the loss. But once that numbness wore off, the grief hit with all its force.

The Waves of Grief: Some Days Are Easier Than Others

Grief is unpredictable. Some days, I find myself laughing at a memory of my dad—like the time we spent together at the casino, laughing over silly jokes and enjoying the little things in life. But those memories, while beautiful, bring a bittersweet kind of pain. I find myself longing for one more moment with him, one more conversation, one more chance to hear his laugh.

Other days, it feels like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. The sadness is overwhelming, and I can’t imagine how to move forward without him. Grief is not something you can control. There are days when I feel okay, and then there are days when I feel like I’ve taken ten steps backward. It’s hard to describe, but it’s like a constant ebb and flow—some days lighter, some days heavier, but never truly gone.

The Loneliness: The Space He Left Behind

Even though I’m surrounded by family and friends, there’s a loneliness that comes with losing a parent. It’s not the kind of loneliness that comes from being physically alone, but from the absence of their presence in my life. I miss hearing his voice, receiving his advice, and feeling his love in the simplest ways. It’s a loneliness that’s hard to explain, one that comes from a place of deep love and connection.

What no one tells you about grief is how isolating it can feel. Even though others around me care and offer their support, there’s a gap that can’t be filled. They didn’t have the same bond with my dad as I did, and as much as they try to help, they can’t fully understand what it feels like to lose *my* dad. There are moments when I just want to talk to him, ask him what to do next, or share something that happened in my life. But the phone remains silent, and that’s when the loneliness feels most intense.

The Guilt: Wishing for More Time

Guilt is a feeling that I didn’t expect to experience, but it has crept in, especially in the quiet moments. I keep thinking about all the things I wish I had said, the moments I wish I had shared more deeply with him. What if I had visited more often? What if I had called him that last time instead of waiting? The “what ifs” can be consuming.

But guilt is often a reflection of love. We wish we could have done more, been more present, given more of ourselves. But the truth is, there’s no perfect way to navigate the relationship with a parent. We’re all doing our best, and sometimes, we don’t realize the importance of moments until they’re gone. I’ve come to realize that guilt is part of the grieving process, but it doesn’t define my love for my dad or the way he would have wanted me to move forward.

The Healing: A Slow, Steady Path Forward

As the days turn into weeks and the weeks into months, I’m beginning to understand that healing isn’t about forgetting. It’s not about “getting over” the loss, but about finding a way to live with it. It’s about holding my dad in my heart while learning how to navigate a world without his presence. The pain of loss doesn’t disappear, but it begins to coexist with the love and memories he left behind.

One thing that has helped is creating new ways to honor him—small rituals that keep his memory alive. Whether it’s visiting places we used to go together or simply reflecting on the lessons he taught me, these moments of remembrance have been healing. I’m starting to see that the grief I feel now is not a barrier, but a testament to how much he meant to me. His legacy lives on in me—in the choices I make, the person I’m becoming, and the love I carry forward.

The Strength in Vulnerability: Embracing the Grief

In many ways, losing my dad has shown me the importance of vulnerability. Grief is not something to hide or overcome—it’s something to honor. It’s okay to miss him, to feel lost at times, and to cry when the pain feels overwhelming. Strength doesn’t mean being “okay” all the time; it means allowing yourself to feel, to mourn, and to heal in your own time.

There’s no roadmap for grief, and it’s not something that can be fixed. But as I continue on this journey, I’m learning that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means carrying their love with you, living in a way that honors their memory, and slowly finding peace in the midst of the pain.

My dad may no longer be here physically, but he will always be a part of me. The memories we shared, the lessons he taught me, and the love we had will remain with me, shaping who I am and who I will become. And while the pain of his absence will never fully go away, I know that as time goes on, I will learn to live with it and find peace in the love we shared.