Losing A Parent Really Changes You Forever

It was a couple of years ago, but it feels like it just happened.

You really feel it on that first Saturday when the phone doesn't ring and momma isn't checking in with her only son.

It's something I'm not sure you ever "get over".

Losing your parents within a few weeks of each other is really hard.

Our dear friend, Russell Estes, joins us on the radio from time to time, and cuz really nails this one on losing your parents.

Russell is a great writer; he's like Lewis Grizzard in 2025!

Check out his thoughts on this emotionally draining topic of loss and grief.

I’ve tried to keep my mind off of it. But how can I? Gosh, it stings! This stings something awful. How can something that happened so long ago still feel so fresh?

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Seven years ago today, my mom went to glory. It still feels strange to say those words — “went to glory.” They sound so holy, so peaceful. But that day didn’t feel peaceful at all. It felt like my world came apart, one heartbeat at a time.

I watched dementia claim her. I was angry. I used to say dementia took her away. But that’s not true. Dementia didn’t take her from us. Jesus did. He took her away from dementia… and that was the best day of her life.

There are moments you never forget — the sound of the phone call, the strange quiet that fills a house when you realize that someone you love isn’t coming back… it instantly changes you and you never forget the feeling.

I remember thinking, How does the world just keep going? How does the sun dare to rise when my mom’s light has gone out?

But here’s what I’ve learned over these seven years: the sun didn’t rise to mock me — it rose to remind me. It reminded me that her light didn’t go out… it just moved.

It shines in the small things — like in my writings… because they all started because of her anyway. I started writing to tell the stories we shared together… and if I’m being honest, writing was my escape from facing the truth that she was fading away.

And even now, as I write this, it is gripping my soul. I thought by now I could put words together about her and not get emotional. I was wrong.

Grief is strange like that. It sneaks up on you in the grocery store when you see her favorite candy, or in church when the choir sings that hymn she loved.

But it also brings unexpected gifts — the kind that hurt and heal at the same time. I see now that every tear I shed was proof that I was deeply loved, and that kind of love doesn’t die. It just changes form.

I like to think of my mom in Heaven — not as some faraway spirit floating around in an apron — but as busy as ever. She’s probably taking care of the angels, making sure everyone’s eating right, and offering to pray for Saint Peter, Michael Landon, and Andy Griffith. But I know this much: she’s also watching, smiling, cheering me on. And she would tell me to “keep writing” because she loved it when I would read her my ramblings.

2 Corinthians 5:8 says, “To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.” That verse used to make me sad. Now it makes me smile. Because I know she’s present with Him — and somehow, in a way that only God can make possible, still present with me.

So today, yeah, it’s tough. I miss her laugh, her hugs, and her advice. But I’ll also thank God — because while my mom went to glory, she left a little of that glory behind in me.

And that’s how I know she’s not really gone.

She’s just waiting for me — right where the light never fades.

And until then, I’ll continue to offer my misspelled words. Perhaps they can help you. And perhaps they even help me. Because from the first word of this… whatever you call this… to the very last, I have written this kind of selfishly. I have put this together for me.

And I have briefly escaped from the fact that she’s gone.