Dear Hope: My husband died. Now I have to take care of our daughter while I’m grieving. How am I supposed to balance it all?

Dear Hope, My husband died. Now I have to take care of our daughter while I’m grieving. How am I supposed to balance it all? I don’t think I can do this.

Really, there’s no manual for this.

No morning routine checklist that makes space for grief and breakfast and getting ready for daycare.

No parenting book that tells you how to explain to your daughter why her father isn’t coming back.

And meanwhile, the dishes still pile up. The school forms still need signing. The world keeps spinning like your whole world wasn’t just ripped into two pieces. Two timelines. The moment before he died, and the moment after. 

You’re not failing. You’re just trying to breathe through thick smoke of the person you loved the most dying. 

Grieving and Parenting at the Same Time Feels Impossible — Because Sometimes It Is

Grief isn’t about “balance.” It’s about survival. Especially when you are parenting with a shattered heart, waking up each morning already carrying the weight of two people. The one who’s gone and the one who’s still here. That’s exhausting, unfathomable, tear-you-apart work. 

Some days, you’ll show up and feel like you’re faking it. Some days, you’ll cry in the bathroom while your child gets a little too much screen time. Some days, you’ll wonder if they’d be better off with someone who isn’t falling apart.

But, they won’t be. They need you. Just as you are. Broken. Real. Someone who loved their dad as much as they do. 

Grief is heavy. You were never meant to carry it alone while packing lunch boxes and paying bills. So, if you can, let your friends help. Let your sister sit on the couch with you so the silence doesn’t become too much. Let someone else take your kid to soccer practice without guilt clawing at your chest. Let the grandparents take her overnight so you can take the time to do what is right for you. 

There is no shame in needing to be held when you’re the one who usually holds everyone else.

You’re not the same parent you were before. That’s okay.
You’re softer now. More tired. Maybe angrier. Maybe quieter.
But you're also still here. Showing up. And that matters more than you know.

You don’t have to “balance” everything perfectly. You just have to exist in knowing that you’re trying (and that’s enough). 

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