There are days I feel strong.
There are days I feel powerful.
And then there are days I remember my dad’s smile… and everything in me softens, aches, and misses him more than I can explain.
My dad passed on in 2024.
Writing that still feels surreal.
I didn’t lose “just” my dad.
I lost:
- the voice that reassured me
- the smile that brought warmth into a room
- the presence that anchored parts of my world
He was more than a parent.
He was my protector, my biggest fan, my quiet reassurance when the world got loud.
His love for me was unconditional. The kind that didn’t need many words…it was just felt. In his eyes. In his laughter. In how he always made me feel safe.
My dad didn’t just raise me, he poured into me.
He believed in me. Protected me. Cheered me on. He planted seeds of confidence, strength, and resilience that are now blooming in the woman I’ve become.
I carry his imprint, not just in my DNA, but in my courage, my wisdom, my tenderness, my fire.
Going back to his house in the city is hard.
The silence hits differently when someone you love is no longer there to fill it.
So I don’t go. And I’ve learned that’s okay.
The home that brings me peace now is the one in our village.
That’s where he was laid to rest.
That’s where I go when I want to feel close to him.
I take care of that house like I’m still taking care of him, because in a way, I am.
But even with all the strength I carry, even with all the healing tools I teach and use…
grief still surprises me.
The other day, I found myself crying.
I remembered his voice. His smile.
And I just wanted to hear him say my name again.
If You’re Grieving Too, Please Know This:
Grief is not something you “get over.”
You don’t just move on from someone who shaped your heart.
You move forward with the love they left behind.
You carry them in your laughter, your decisions, your healing.
You honour them by being exactly who they helped you become.
And it’s okay to cry.
It’s okay to avoid the house.
It’s okay to long for their voice.
It’s okay to feel hollow.
What matters is knowing that the love you shared was real. And because of that love, you’re never truly without them.
What’s Helped Me (And Might Help You Too)
- Let the tears come without shame. It means you loved deeply.
- Create a small ritual to honour them. Light a candle. Speak their name. Write them letters.
- Find the space that brings peace. For me, it’s our village home. For you, it might be a photo, a memory, or a song.
- Say their name often. Keep them in your conversations. Keep them in your story.
- Know that your strength doesn’t erase your grief. You can be powerful and still miss them every day.
If you’ve lost someone, especially a parent, I want you to hear this from me:
You are not alone in this.
Your grief is valid. And there’s no timeline.
Your memories matter. And the love you carry will always find new ways to show up.
I don’t know if the hollow ever fully closes.
But I do know that in time, it becomes a soft space where love still lives.
With all my heart,
Chinyelu
