Someone reached out to me today to share their love and support on Father’s Day and mentioned that this day must bring up a lot of feelings.
And yes, it does.
But it also doesn’t.
Because the truth is, when you live with the loss of a parent, grief isn’t reserved for holidays. It isn’t something that appears on Father’s Day and then fades away the next morning. It lives with you every day.
Despite living a full, vibrant, and joyful life, grief remains a constant. It changes shape over time, but it never truly leaves. People often say things get better with time, and in many ways they do. A broken heart heals. The end of a relationship eventually hurts less. But the loss of a life is different.
A loss of life is final.
There is no quick phone call to check in. No surprise visit. No opportunity to reconnect. There is only the permanent reality that someone you love is no longer here.
When I lost my father on March 5, 2025, it was one of the most difficult days of my life.
It was a little after 5:40 p.m. when I noticed a missed call from my mom. There was a voicemail.
“Lizzy, call me… I think… I don’t know…”
I heard it in her voice.
A pain I had feared for so long had finally arrived.
I immediately went into action. I called my neighbors to come watch my little one while we left. Even before I knew what had happened, I felt it. The air seemed heavier. The world felt different.
What still stays with me is that, about an hour earlier, I had felt something.
I remember walking down the hallway when suddenly I felt my body go light, almost as if I might fall. Deep in my stomach, I felt one word:
“Dad.”
I knew before I knew.
To this day, I can’t explain it. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it was intuition. Maybe it was something else entirely. But I distinctly remember that feeling, and I often wonder if, somehow, I felt him leave this world before I was told.
As we drove to Monterey Park, where my parents lived, I already knew.
When we arrived, the house was empty.
Tim called my mom, and she told him, “Paul is no longer with us.”
I remember feeling angry that she had told him and not me. Later, that anger dissolved into understanding. Grief looks different for everyone, and there is no right way to navigate the unimaginable.
We arrived at the hospital.
My mom, my uncle, and my cousin were there.
And so was my father.
He lay in a hospital bed, completely still. The warmth and life that had always filled him were gone.
That was how I learned.
That was my confirmation.
Not through words, but through seeing the reality with my own eyes.
The months that followed are somewhat of a blur. At the same time that I was grieving one of the greatest losses of my life, I was also a new mother with a six-month-old baby.
I was experiencing the highest highs and the deepest lows simultaneously.
The contrast was surreal.
I have always known I was strong, but this period taught me something deeper. It showed me the depth of my own capacity for love, compassion, and resilience.
There were days when I could have disappeared into my grief. Instead, I had a little person depending on me to show up every day.
In many ways, my child saved me.
My little one gave me purpose when everything felt shattered. They reminded me that life was still moving forward, that joy still existed, and that I still had so much love to give.
So when people ask whether Father’s Day brings up feelings, the answer is complicated.
It isn’t just today.
It’s every day.
Every day there is a small ache in knowing my dad is no longer on this earth. Every day there is sadness in knowing he will never know my child, and my child will never know him.
That is what grief often is: mourning not only what was lost, but what will never be.
Yet grief has also taught me some of life’s most important lessons.
It has taught me how precious time truly is.
It has taught me how little many of the things we worry about actually matter.
It has taught me to live in the present.
And perhaps most importantly, it has taught me to look for the silver lining, even in the darkest moments.
After my father died, people showed up for me in ways I will never forget.
There were texts and phone calls. Social media messages. Handwritten cards. Care packages. Flowers. Holiday check-ins. Simple reminders that someone was thinking of me.
Those gestures mattered more than the people who sent them will ever know.
They changed me.
They made me more compassionate, more attentive, and more aware of the quiet ways people carry pain.
Losing my father was one of the most painful experiences of my life. Yet somehow, even in his absence, he left me with another gift: a deeper understanding of people and a greater ability to love them through their own losses.
Even now, as I write this, I’m looking west. Dark clouds are gathering across the sky, but the sun continues to break through them.
That feels like grief.
The clouds never fully disappear, but neither does the light.
Over time, I’ve learned that joy and sadness can coexist. Love and loss can live in the same heart. You don’t have to choose one or the other.
So when my friend asked if Father’s Day brings up feelings, my answer is yes—but not because today is different.
It’s because grief walks beside me every day.
Not in a melancholy way. Not in a way that prevents me from living.
Rather, it reminds me to live fully.
I honor my father by embracing the best parts of him and carrying them forward. I honor him by loving deeply, by appreciating the people around me, and by remembering that every day I am here is a gift.
Because it is.
I often think about something my dad used to say every year on his birthday:
“Beats the alternative.”
It hurts knowing I’ll never hear him say those words again.
But I smile every time I think of them.
Because he’s right.
And because a piece of him lives on every time those words cross my mind.
I’ve often thought of losing a parent as a club no one wants to join. It’s a membership I wish on no one, at least not for a very long time.
But now I’m here.
Living with the sadness, the longing, and the love that remains.
Those things are forever woven into the fabric of my life.
Loss has changed me permanently.
But so has love.
And every day, I choose to find the light.

#Grief #LoveAndLoss #HealingJourney #MentalHealth #LifeLessons #Perspective #happyfathersday






