Living as if my parents are dead.
- 20 hours ago
- 3 min read
A friend’s father passed recently. She texted a few of us, then posted on social media, receiving a range of expected condolences within hours. There were comments about people feeling “sorry” for her “loss,” and others sharing they were here should she need to talk, and others simply offering support through words and emojis. The script for this kind of grief is well-rehearsed, and the world knows its role.
Watching it all, I felt the familiar ache rise in my chest. Whenever I witness grief and loss, I struggle with the range of emotions it brings me. The first being empathy, of course, but it is often coupled with jealousy—mostly of the experience of being able to grieve a healthy, loving family relationship. Envy for the clarity of her loss, for the way her pain was met with open arms instead of awkward silence. My grief had never been that legible.
Another feeling that comes is that familiar feeling of isolation. When my father left, me I was shocked in all the ways that matter. Yet I received no offers of condolences, no empathetic support, no offers to talk. There were no casseroles at my door, no “I’m sorry for your loss” cards with a hastily scribbled signature.
Instead, I was in a vacuum. I felt alone and isolated.
Abandonment by a parent is a very isolating form of grief
Unlike the death of a parent, which often brings recognition of the loss and the offering of accompanying support (and rightfully so), the loss of a parent through abandonment rarely brings any of this support.
Mutual friends and family scrambled to explain it away: “You two never got along anyway,” “He needs time for himself,” “I won’t choose sides.” (Imagine saying that to someone at a funeral!)
And while grief should never be minimized or diminished, a dead parent often didn’t choose to leave. An abandoning parent did. That intentionality adds layers of betrayal and rejection that death doesn’t carry, yet survivors are supported even less, despite maybe needing it even more.
The unique pain of “chosen” loss
When a parent dies, the world understands your pain—at least in part. While grief is unique and personal, it is also a somewhat universal experience. Instead, abandonment is treated as a taboo—or worse, as a personal failure.
When a parent leaves, the world often asks you to justify it—or worse, implies you should just “get over it.” When a parent leaves, their absence is often rationalized, minimized, or blamed on the child. The world understands mourning; it doesn’t know what to do with the betrayal of being left behind.
(Links to helpful sites for anyone who can relate.)
In my experience, people avoid the topic of grief, especially the loss that comes from abandonment. Mentioning my father is often met with silence: People reach for their phones or make excuses to change the subject. And while this is likely common for many sensitive topics, it reinforces that sense of shame and self-blame that so many survivors experience.
THE BASICS
This silence causes me to downplay my pain, dismissing it as not “legitimate” grief. At a young age, I quickly learned to say, “We’re not close,” instead of “He left me,” because the first one didn’t make people uncomfortable. Grief shouldn’t have to be palatable to be valid, but abandonment forces you to shrink your pain to fit others’ comfort.
In adulthood, as part of my healing journey, I started slowly being honest with others around me and opening up about what really happened: admitting that he left, rather than us just “not getting along.” But people are still uncomfortable with this, and they quickly rush to excuse or soften the edges: “Just call him,” or“Give him time; he’ll come around.” And for some reason, I struggle the most with this one: “I’m sure he still loves you.” As if love that vanishes without explanation is still love. As if closure is a phone call away, and not a privilege the abandoned rarely receive.
A loss no one talks about
When a parent passes, people send condolences. When a parent leaves, others often do not know what to say or do. Unlike death, abandonment leaves room for false hope (“Maybe they’ll come back?”) or victim blaming (“What did she do wrong?”). Even if people make supportive comments to me, I often wonder what they talk about when I walk away—what they think after reading my honesty in my books and blogs. I wonder if they blame me, or if they think I somehow deserve what happened. Even now, almost two decades later, I feel enveloped in self-blame and shame.
Grief over a parent’s death is universally acknowledged. But grief over a parent’s abandonment? That kind of loss is often met with silence—and that silence makes it so much lonelier.
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