Parenting Through Grief: Finding My Purpose in Motherhood

Finding my way through motherhood, grief, and the life we are learning to live without their dad.

Losing my husband, Noli, to cancer changed so much about our lives. It changed not only the way our family looks, but also how I see myself, my role as a mother, and the life I once knew.

For years, we had a rhythm. We were husband and wife, partners in raising our children, sharing decisions, worries, little victories, and all the ordinary things that make up family life. We had our own ways of figuring things out, sometimes agreeing, sometimes not, but always knowing we were in it together.

Then everything changed.

I became a mother navigating a life I never imagined I would have to live. One where I would have to make decisions on my own, answer questions I never thought I would face, and figure out how to move forward while still trying to understand my own loss.

Alone.

I say this knowing that I am blessed with family and friends who have been there for us. But there is a particular kind of loneliness that comes with losing the person who was supposed to share the journey with you. The person who knew your children as you did, who understood the little things, and with whom you could share even the most ordinary moments.

There are times when I look at my children and wonder, How do I do this without their dad?

And sometimes, the question that follows is just as difficult: How do I take care of them when I am still trying to put myself back together?

Motherhood doesn't wait for you to feel ready.

Grief has its own timeline, but motherhood follows the family calendar.

There are school activities, assignments, meals, appointments, and all the little things that don't stop just because life has taken an unexpected turn.

There are days when I have to get up and show up for my children even when my heart wishes it could pause for a while.

Sometimes, one of them needs comforting, and I find myself giving reassurance when I could use some myself. Sometimes, I have to make decisions that Noli and I would have discussed together. And sometimes, I catch myself wanting to tell him something about the children, only to remember that I no longer can.

Those moments still hurt, but I am learning that being a good mother doesn't mean having everything figured out. It doesn't mean being strong every single day or knowing exactly what to say when my children are struggling.

Sometimes, it simply means showing up.

It means being honest enough to say that Mommy is having a difficult day. It means allowing ourselves to laugh over something silly without feeling guilty. And sometimes, it means waiting until everyone is asleep before allowing myself to cry.

My children don't need a mother who never breaks down. They need to know that having difficult days is part of being human, and that we can find our way through them.

I don't have to become both parents.

One of the things I think about most is that my children have lost their dad.

As their mother, there is an instinct to want to make everything okay. To protect them from sadness, fill the space left behind, and make sure they never feel that something is missing.

But I have come to understand that I cannot replace Noli. And perhaps I am not supposed to.

He gave our children things that only he could give them: his own stories, his humor, his way of seeing things, and the lessons he taught through the way he lived.

I want them to remember their dad not only because we miss him, but because he was such an important part of who they are.

I want to keep telling his stories, bringing up the little things he used to say, and reminding them of the values he lived by: kindness, humility, and simplicity.

I want them to know that they can always talk about him. That they don't have to stop missing him just because time passes. And that remembering their dad doesn't mean they have to stop making new memories.

My role is not to take his place. It is to continue being their mother while helping them keep a place for their father in their lives.

Finding purpose in the life I have now  

I used to think of purpose in terms of the things we accomplish: the work we do, the goals we reach, and the plans we make.

I still believe those things matter. But losing Noli has changed the way I look at purpose.

Perhaps it isn't always about finding something new or doing something extraordinary. Sometimes, it is about recognizing what is already in front of us.

Right now, a big part of my purpose is in the everyday moments of motherhood. In being present during their milestones. In encouraging their dreams, helping them navigate disappointments, and making sure our home remains a place where they feel loved and safe.

I want my children to grow up knowing that grief and happiness can exist in the same heart. That it is okay to miss someone and still look forward to something. That we can hold on to the people we love while continuing to embrace the life that is still unfolding.

I also want them to see that their mother is still living, not simply getting through each day.  That I can miss their dad terribly and still enjoy a good day. That I can cry over an old memory and, a few hours later, laugh with them over something completely ordinary.

Moving forward doesn't mean leaving someone behind.

Finding Our Way Forward

My children are not the reason I have to stop grieving, nor do I want them to feel responsible for making me happy or being strong for my sake. But they remind me that life still has so much to offer.

There are graduations to attend, dreams to encourage, milestones to celebrate, trips to take, and countless ordinary days still waiting for us.

I don't know exactly what motherhood will look like from here. I know there will be days when I wish Noli were here to share these moments. But I hope my children will grow up seeing a mother who loved their father deeply, allowed herself to grieve, and still found the courage to embrace life again.

I may not have all the answers, but I know we still have so much love to give and so much life ahead of us.

Perhaps finding my purpose again is simply about learning to appreciate the life we still have, even when it looks different from the one we imagined.

I am still their mom.

And I hope my children will learn, as I am learning, that even after loss, there can still be love.  After heartbreak, there can still be hope.

I am learning that purpose isn't something I have to search far for. Sometimes, it is right here, in the everyday moments with my children.