Trying to Grieve Without Falling Apart

Sometimes the smallest acts of kindness mean the most when you're struggling just to get through another day.

On September 27, 2026, I lost my mother, Doris Marie Dansby. My father, Donald Dansby, passed away on January 5, 2017.

Now, for the first time in my life, both of my parents are gone.

I'm 54 years old, and I'm finding out that no matter how old you are, losing your parents changes your world.

People have been telling me to take care of myself, to give myself time to grieve, and not to worry about everything else right now. I know they mean well. But sometimes that's easier said than done.

Life doesn't stop because someone dies. The bills still arrive. The Mocha (my dog) still needs attention. There are groceries to buy, things to clean, appointments to remember, and decisions that need to be made.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I'm supposed to figure out how to grieve.

Sometimes Love Arrives as a Card or a Hot Meal

Earlier this weekend, I thanked two wonderful people on Facebook.

Theresa Hall (a friend of the family) sent me the first sympathy card I've received since losing Mom. Debbie Day (a supermodel friend living in Florida) sent over some of her favorite comfort food, including a rotisserie chicken, turtles, and macaroni and cheese. My sister Sara is also doing her own mourning also brought me some soup that someone had given her.

These might sound like ordinary things.

But when you're grieving, they're anything but ordinary.

It means someone thought about you. Someone took a few minutes out of their own life to try to make yours a little easier.

And right now, that means more than I can adequately put into words.

At least I don't have to worry about going grocery shopping for a little while.

I've also been trying to use up the frozen fruits and vegetables in the house. This morning's breakfast experiment was a mango, pineapple, and coffee smoothie.

Yes, coffee.

I'm not sure what Mom would have thought about that particular combination.

But I'm trying to make use of what I already have, eat something in the morning, and keep myself going.

Grieving While Trying Not to Show It

Here's something I haven't completely figured out yet.

How do you grieve when you're trying so hard not to show your emotions?

I've spent so much of my life trying to be strong, trying to handle things myself, and trying not to become a burden on anyone.

Living with epilepsy since I was five years old has taught me that life can change in an instant. I've had hospitalizations, setbacks, and situations where I've had to start over.

But losing Mom is different.

After Dad died, I still had Mom.

Now I don't have either one of them.

Sometimes I feel like crying. Sometimes I'm angry. Sometimes I feel almost nothing at all. And sometimes something as simple as seeing an item that belonged to Mom brings everything back.

I also worry about being around other people. I wonder whether anyone would want to spend time with someone who is going through so much.

Would I be a downer? Would I spend the whole time talking about what's wrong instead of enjoying the company?

I don't have an answer to that yet.

What I'm slowly trying to understand is that I shouldn't have to pretend everything is wonderful just to deserve someone's friendship or companionship.

There Is No Schedule for Getting Better

Mom was laid to rest at sea on October 9, at the same coordinates where Dad was laid to rest years earlier.

There's something comforting about knowing they're together again, even though their absence leaves an enormous hole in my life.

As a Catholic, I believe in prayer, the Communion of Saints, and the hope of eternal life. My faith has helped me through some extraordinarily difficult times.

But having faith doesn't mean I don't feel pain.

It doesn't mean I won't cry, question things, or have days when getting out of bed feels like an accomplishment.

For now, maybe healing begins with the simplest things.

Eating breakfast. Taking care of Mocha. Answering a message from a friend. Saying a prayer. Picking up my camera when I feel ready.

And allowing myself to miss my parents without feeling that I have to hide it from the entire world.

To Everyone Who Has Reached Out

Thank you.

Whether you sent a card, brought food, made a phone call, left a Facebook comment, or simply remembered my family in your prayers, please know that I appreciate it.

I may not always answer immediately. I may not always know what to say.

But that doesn't mean your kindness has gone unnoticed.

I'm still trying to find my way through this.

Some days will be better than others. And there will probably be days when all I accomplish is making another strange smoothie and keeping the household running.

For right now, that's enough.

I'm not giving up.

I'm just learning how to keep living in a world that no longer has Mom and Dad physically in it.

With love, prayers, and hugs,

Sherry Edith Dansby

Photographer, Advocate, and a daughter who will always miss her parents.