Part One- The Year I Became an Orphan (Even Though I’m Not)

A Note Before We Begin

This is the first part of a three-part series on grief, shared through my own story. It includes reflections on the death of loved ones and the raw emotions that follow. Please take care while reading if this topic is sensitive for you.

The Year I Became An Orphan (Even Though I’m Not)

My self-identity has changed so much over the last two years with the decline and loss of both of my beloved parents. It has truly made me feel like an orphan—left alone in this world to navigate life. And that feels crazy because I’m not alone. I’m married. I have kids. But deep inside, a part of me feels untethered.

Growing up, my dad was my hero—hands-on, active, fit, stern, and loving. He wasn’t perfect (who is?), but to me, he was larger than life. He was career military, a marathon runner, a dad who read to me every night, took us on family vacations, and worked hard to give me a real childhood. He was patient and kind, but if I went too far—sassing him or my mom—he was strict. I grew up in the 80s, so yes, I got my butt spanked. He even kept “the belt” hanging in the hallway, though I rarely pushed him to use it.

My childhood was wonderful. My parents let me be a kid. My mom was the nicest woman you could ever meet—loved by everyone. She was my best friend, my confidant, and my biggest champion. I honestly have nothing bad to say about them. They were always in my corner, even when I was wrong.

Looking back now, I realize how much I took their health — and their presence — for granted. My parents had always been steady and strong, and I assumed they always would be. But life doesn’t give warnings. The first cracks in that illusion came slowly, quietly. And once they appeared, everything began to change.

→ Continue reading in Part Two: When Things Changed – They had always been strong. Until they weren’t. This is the chapter where I stopped being just a daughter and became the caretaker.