The grief of losing a parent feels so different from any other grief I’ve known. It’s an ache that reshapes you, leaving you feeling untethered—adrift in a way that defies explanation.
Untethered is the word I keep returning to, the one that best captures this strange, weightless feeling. When I shared this with one of my sisters, she nodded with quiet understanding. Untethered, she agreed, is exactly the right word.
When I left for college, my dad gave me one of his Masonic rings—a piece of him he wanted me to carry with me as I stepped into the world. It was the ring he received the year I was born, when he was Master Mason of his lodge. For years, it lived in a drawer, never worn but always cherished. It traveled with me from house to house, a silent witness to the chapters of my life.
The day we prepared to say goodbye and take my father off of life support, as the weight of the inevitable pressed down, I felt an urgent need to find that ring. I searched frantically—through my jewelry box, through a box of mementos and cherished notes. It wasn’t there. Finally, I checked our fireproof safe. The earlier me, in some deep wisdom, had known how precious this ring would one day become. There it was. I slipped it onto my finger, and it fit perfectly.
Throughout that final day, I found myself drawn again and again to his bedside, his hand resting in mine. My hand—the one now wearing his ring. As I held him, I noticed for the first time how alike our hands were. I had never seen it before. Maybe it was because I always wore nail polish or because I never stopped to look closely. But in that moment, through tears and the shallow rise and fall of his breathing, I saw the resemblance. It felt like a quiet gift, something he was leaving behind without even realizing it.
Since that day, I’ve worn the ring every single day. It has become a source of solace, a thread connecting me to him. When I catch a glimpse of it on my hand, for a split second, it feels like I’m seeing his hand instead. In those fleeting moments, the ache of being untethered fades, and I am reminded of our unbroken connection. He is still with me. He always will be.
