Let me ask you something. Have you ever felt a hollow ache in your chest, a physical emptiness, when someone you love is gone?
Not just sadness—a raw, cellular longing? Like a part of your very flesh has been carved out, leaving you exposed to a wind you can’t name?
When a parent dies, this isn’t just loss. It’s a seismic shift in the architecture of your being.
The Dent No One Sees
Grief isn’t just tears. It’s a phantom limb.
You reach for a voice that’s no longer there, a laugh that’s been silenced, a hand that won’t squeeze back. The pain isn’t just in your heart—it’s in your bones, your blood, your breath.
Why? Because your parents aren’t just memories. They’re woven into your body.
- Their DNA is your blueprint.
- Their rhythms shaped your heartbeat.
- Their touch imprinted on your nervous system.
This bond isn’t poetic. It’s biological. When they die, your cells rebel. Your body mourns what it once knew as home.
The Age of the Wound
The blow hits differently depending on when it lands:
- Before 21: The grief is visceral. Your body screams for the missing half of its genetic code. It’s not just a parent gone—it’s the ground beneath your feet crumbling.
- After 42: The ache softens. The bond frays with time, leaving a quieter, lonelier void. For women, especially, the physical tether weakens, but the heart still whispers their name.
Yet no matter your age, the absence remains. A chair empty at holidays. A voice missing from the phone. A story no one else remembers.
Lies We Tell Ourselves
Society says: “Be strong. Distract yourself. Host the guests. Plan the funeral. Keep busy.”
But grief isn’t a checklist. It’s a storm.
- Distractions are bandaids on bullet wounds.
- Small talk feels like betrayal.
- “Moving on” becomes a guilt-laden myth.
The truth? You don’t “handle” grief. You survive it.
Antidote: Turn Inward
Here’s the hard, healing truth: The way through isn’t out. It’s in.
1. Withdraw.
- Step back from the noise. Cancel the gatherings. Silence the condolences. Grief needs room to breathe.
2. Listen to Your Body.
- Sit in the quiet. Feel the ache in your muscles, the weight in your chest. These aren’t enemies—they’re messages.
3. Create Rituals.
- Light a candle. Write letters they’ll never read. Chant, pray, or walk in nature. Let your body relearn life without their physical presence.
4. Reclaim Your Breath.
- Try this: Breathe in deeply, imagining their love filling your lungs. Exhale, releasing the pain. Repeat until the air feels lighter.
The Unseen Cord
Even death can’t sever the bond entirely. Their laughter echoes in your smile. Their stubbornness flares in your resolve. Their love lingers in your reflection.
You aren’t just mourning a person. You’re mourning the living, breathing connection that once anchored you to this earth.
But here’s the secret: That anchor isn’t gone. It’s become part of your compass.
Remember: Grief isn’t a problem to solve. It’s a landscape to navigate.
The next time the wave crashes, don’t run. Stand still. Let it drench you. Then whisper: “I am still here. And so are you.”