Losing a Parent: The Grief That Never Leaves

This entry is deeply personal. It’s one I’ve thought about doing for a long time, but honestly—it’s hard. Because today, I’m talking about losing a parent. About what it feels like to lose someone who shaped you, protected you, and stood beside you—your whole life.

My dad passed away from cancer when he was just 67. He was healthy in so many ways—active, vibrant, full of life—but cancer doesn’t care about any of that. And even though it’s been 15 years… it still hurts. Every single day.

People talk about how time heals all wounds, but I think those of us who’ve experienced deep loss know: that’s not entirely true. The pain changes, but it never really goes away. You learn to live around it. You learn to carry it. But it’s always there.

I was an adult when my dad died, and still—I felt like an orphan. Because when you lose someone who was an intricate, irreplaceable part of your life, you’re never the same. You lose your anchor. And for me, that anchor was my dad.

My dad was… exceptional. He climbed to the top of Mount Rainier. He set school track records. He was so good at golf he could’ve gone pro—he won his town’s tournament at just 14 years old. He was a big partier in college, the kind of person everyone knew and loved—people said he was the most popular guy on campus. But to me? He was Dad, and that was more than enough.

He shaped how I show up in the world—especially in my work. He took care of people. He was kind, loyal, a strong leader. That’s the kind of person I strive to be every day. I carry him with me, in how I lead, how I care, how I show up for others.

Growing up, it was always the four of us: my mom, my dad, my brother, and me. We moved around a lot for his job, and because of that, we became each other’s constant. We didn’t have a hometown—we had each other. And when he died, it shook our foundation. We’ve all felt that loss so deeply.

And then there’s my kids. My dad was their best friend, their father figure. When he died, they lost more than a grandparent. They lost the man who filled a gap their own dad didn’t fill. That grief ripples through generations.

I’ll be honest—I still cry. I cry a lot. Not because I’m stuck, but because I still love him so much. I’m still lonely for him. And there’s this hole in my heart that I know will never fully heal. Maybe that’s okay, because it means he mattered. It means he made a lasting imprint.

If you’ve lost a parent, I just want to say: I see you. I know how hard it is. The world keeps turning, people expect you to move on, but inside—your world feels forever changed. You can still function, still love, still laugh. But you carry them with you, and sometimes, that weight gets heavy.

So today, I just want to give you permission to grieve. Whether your loss was recent or decades ago, your grief is valid. Your love is valid. And you’re not alone.

Until next time—take care of your heart.