Grieving a parent while parenting is its own kind of hard—here’s expert advice for getting through it

My dad died last summer. Even eight months later, it’s still surreal to type that. He’d been diagnosed with cancer just seven weeks earlier. Looking back, I think I knew deep down pretty early on that there was no fight to be had—that the descent toward the end was already in motion with little to do besides brace for impact. I spent the last week of his life at his bedside in Florida while my teenagers were home in Vermont, and I felt fortunate that I could simply be present for my dad while my kids had the support of their dad and stepdad at home.

Coming back and dealing with the waves of grief has been—and still is—layered and ever-changing. Our relationship was complicated. But the truth I always knew was that he was proud of me and loved me the best he knew how. And somehow, that’s both enough and not enough at the same time.

I seem to have a lot of friends who’ve lost their dads. We joke about being in the Dead Dads Club, which is somehow oddly comforting. And once I pulled up behind a car with a bumper sticker that said “Don’t honk at me—my dad is dead” and I laugh-cried all the way home. Grief is like that: absurd and gutting in the same breath.

When I set out to write this article, I’ll be honest—I wanted these answers for myself as much as for anyone reading. So I reached out to Toni Filipone, a certified grief educator, international grief expert, and founder of MasterGrief, a global platform that has supported thousands of people through loss in over 80 countries. And her answers were so cathartic, so validating, and so actionable that I knew they needed to be shared—in her own words as much as possible.

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Losing your parent is losing your infrastructure

When a mom loses a parent, Filipone says, she doesn’t just lose a person. “She loses a role, a rhythm, a safety net that quietly held parts of her life together,” she explains. “You’re not just grieving backward, you’re grieving forward. You’re grieving every future moment where they were supposed to show up.”

That resonates. It’s the person who knew you before you were “mom.” The one who could tell you that you’re doing better than you think—and you actually believed it. When that disappears, Filipone says, “You’re not just carrying your grief. You’re carrying your kids, your responsibilities, your life… without the person who used to help hold you.”

And then there’s the practical absence: the person you’d call when your kid had a fever and you were scared. Filipone acknowledges that loss directly. “No one replaces a parent,” she says. “But over time, you start becoming that voice for yourself. You hear yourself saying the things they used to say. That’s not losing them. That’s carrying them forward.”

Your kids don’t need a perfect mom—they need a real one

If you’re a mom who’s been white-knuckling your way through grief so your kids don’t see you fall apart, Filipone has a gentle reframe: “This is actually an opportunity. This is where parenting and grief meet in a powerful way. This is the moment you get to teach your children how to grieve.”

She points out that when kids grow up believing mom is always strong, what they internalize is that they have to be strong too—which really means they shouldn’t show their feelings. “I hear parents say all the time, ‘I’m worried because my kids aren’t showing their grief.’ And I gently ask them, are you showing yours?”

That doesn’t mean dumping the full weight of your grief on your children. It means being honest in age-appropriate ways. For younger kids, it might sound like, “Mommy is sad because I miss grandma. It’s okay to feel sad sometimes.” For older kids: “I’m having a hard day. Losing someone you love doesn’t just go away, but I’m learning how to carry it.” What matters most, Filipone says, is that kids don’t feel shut out or confused. “Kids are incredibly perceptive—they already know something is different. When you give them language, you give them safety.”

And if your kids are acting out, regressing, or seeming unaffected? Filipone says that’s normal. “They’re trying to make sense of a world that suddenly feels less stable.” Her advice: respond with curiosity, not punishment. Get low and say, “Hey, I’ve noticed you’re having a hard time. Want to tell me about it?” And if they don’t have words, sit with them anyway. “That presence is what regulates them more than any perfect response.”

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Grief hits different at milestones—here’s how to honor a grandparent who’s gone

A kid’s graduation. A new pregnancy. A birthday party where Grandpa would’ve been the loudest one in the room. Filipone’s advice is direct: “You plan for the grief, not around it. Because pretending it won’t hurt sets you up to feel blindsided.”

She suggests honoring your parent in small ways—lighting a candle, saying a quiet “I wish you were here,” sharing a memory before the event begins—and then giving yourself permission to feel whatever comes. “Joy mixed with grief—that’s not betrayal. That’s what love looks like when someone is no longer physically here.”

And when it comes to including your kids in the process of remembering, Filipone’s advice is to honor your parent “in ways that feel alive, not just heavy.” Tell stories—not just about how they died, but how they lived. What they loved, what made them laugh, what made them them. Let kids draw pictures, cook a recipe they used to make, look at photos together. Celebrate birthdays. Say their name out loud. “Grief doesn’t have to be this silent, sacred space that kids aren’t allowed into,” Filipone says. “It can be something shared—a bridge between generations instead of a wall.”

When you’re grieving a complicated relationship with a parent

This is the part that doesn’t get enough airtime. Not everyone had a warm, close relationship with the parent they lost. And Filipone is clear that this kind of grief is often heavier, “because it’s not just about what was—it’s about what never was. You’re grieving the parent you had and the one you needed but didn’t get.”

I understand this particular tangle. You can love someone, know they loved you, and still grieve a version of the relationship that never quite materialized. Filipone says the guilt and confusion that come with this territory are completely normal. “Relief doesn’t mean you didn’t love them. It might mean something hard has ended. Not crying doesn’t mean you didn’t care. It might mean your system is protecting you.”

And when your kids ask about the grandparent they’ve lost? Filipone says honoring doesn’t mean pretending. “It might mean acknowledging the truth: ‘They struggled. They weren’t always what I needed. And they were still part of my story.’ With your kids, it can be simple and honest: ‘They weren’t perfect, but they mattered.’”

For the mom grieving the parent she wished she’d had, Filipone’s words hit hard: “You’re not just missing someone—you’re missing the experience you never got to have. The conversations, the support, the love that should have been there. That longing makes sense. It’s valid.” But, she adds, “Your story doesn’t end there. You still have the ability to create the kind of love, connection, and safety you needed—in your own life, and for your own children. You don’t have to repeat what you didn’t receive. You can become something different. And in that, there’s both grief… and something incredibly powerful.”

How to know if you need more support

Filipone draws a clear line between grief that’s painful and grief that’s stuck. “Grief itself isn’t the problem—isolation is,” she says. “Healthy grief moves. It shifts. It still hurts, but it breathes. When it feels frozen or overwhelming, that’s a sign to bring someone into it with you.” If you’re withdrawing from life, unable to function, or your thoughts are getting darker, it’s time to reach out to a professional—not because something is wrong with you, but because you weren’t meant to carry this alone.

To the mom crying in the shower before drop-off

I asked Filipone what she’d say to the mom reading this who lost her parent six months ago and still cries in the shower before school drop-off. Her answer made me cry (in the good way):

“Six months is not a long time in grief. You’re not behind. You’re not doing this wrong. You’re in it. And those moments in the shower? That’s where the grief gets to come out because you’ve held it together everywhere else. That’s not weakness. That’s release.”

And then she said something I keep coming back to: “Your life is not over just because someone you love is gone. There will be moments—small at first—where you laugh again, where you feel present again. Not instead of your grief. Alongside it.”

If you’re in this, whether your loss is fresh or years old, whether the relationship was close or complicated, whether your kids are babies or teenagers: you’re allowed to grieve and parent at the same time. They aren’t competing. They’re coexisting. And that’s not a failure—it’s the whole messy, beautiful reality.

Meet the Expert: Toni Filipone is a certified grief educator, international grief expert, speaker, and founder of MasterGrief, a global platform helping people heal after loss in over 80 countries. She is the author of In the Trenches: A Coach’s Walk Through Grief and creator of the MasterGrief Certification Program. Learn more at mastergrief.com.

source https://www.mother.ly/health-wellness/mental-health/grieving-a-parent-while-parenting-expert-advice/