Losing Home

Something no one ever shared with me—at least not directly—is the feeling and realization that comes after you lose your parents. Losing your parents is funny in a way because, well, on some level, you expect it will eventually happen. There’s this small, logical thought tucked away in the back of your mind—you know it exists, but you keep it hidden. Then there’s the non-logical thought: that your parents will live forever, and that there’s no way my parents will ever leave me.

Then it actually happens. And that “something” no one talks about dawns on you—and it knocks the air right out of your lungs. Well, I’m going to share that “something” with you.

I lost my mom in January of 2022, and exactly one month later, I lost my dad. The time in between—losing my mom, managing her funeral, all while my dad was in the hospital—is a bit of a blur to me. But the feeling I had, the realization I experienced after they were both gone, is still fresh in my mind.

My parents were older—75 and 85, respectively—and by all accounts, one could say they lived long lives. But in my mind, the mind of a daughter, it wasn’t long enough. I didn’t get enough time. My kids didn’t get enough time. My parents were supposed to live forever. They were meant to see my boys grow up and become men—and they didn’t.

Not only did I grieve for myself, a child without her parents, I grieved for my boys. And that realization I mentioned—the one no one talks about—was this: my “home” was gone. I could never go back “home,” because they were it. They were home. They were comfort. They were my home base. When nothing else in the world made sense—growing up and even as an adult—I could always go back home, eat some comfort food, and recharge. I could just be a daughter for a little while—not a mom or wife. I could be taken care of.

And when they died, that part of me died with them.

I didn’t just grieve my parents—I also grieved myself. I was officially a full-time adult, truly on my own. That realization is probably the deepest and most profound one I’ve ever had. You see, I thought I was an adult—I’m married and have three beautiful children—but I still had my home base. When that was gone, I truly felt what it meant to be grown. The people who brought me into this world were no longer in it. And that reality, my friend, is sobering.

The first year was the hardest, I suppose—although if I’m being honest, every year has its challenges. What hit me hardest was the first time I got really sick. My mom would usually come over, make me soup, and watch my kids while I rested. The reality that she wasn’t there hit like a ton of bricks. It’s all these “first” moments after you lose a parent that hit unexpectedly—and chip a little piece of your heart away every time.

It’s been three years now since I lost my parents. It’s not that it’s easier—I’ve just gotten more used to the reality. Like the ocean, my grief comes in waves. What has helped me most is my faith. I have clung to it like a life jacket. I can’t imagine carrying this grief without it—or without the mercy God has shown me. I’ve found purpose and a way to honor my parents through my work and creativity. It doesn’t make the grief disappear, but it helps me channel it into something meaningful—something that might help someone else on their journey.

I’ve started creating a grief journal, which I hope to launch in 2026. I’ve also started a podcast where I share both my grief and my faith journey—along with the stories of others.

I don’t pretend to understand why things happen the way they do. For a long time, I was angry with God for taking both my parents—what felt like all at once. But over time, I realized that my anger was really misplaced guilt. I felt responsible for not saving them—as if I even could. For not doing enough, or not knowing enough. But what God has taught me is this: I did all that I knew to do with the knowledge I had. He didn’t expect me to save them or perform miracles—so I shouldn’t expect the same from myself.

If you’re walking through grief, remember to be kind to yourself. Give yourself the same mercy God does. And just take it one day at a time.