When Heaven Called My Dad Home — Learning to Breathe Through Grief Again

February 16, 2026.

That’s the day my dad took his last breath on this side of eternity.

February 20, 2026.

That’s the day we laid him to rest.

Just four months after I buried my husband.

Four months.

Four months between standing at my husband’s grave…and standing at my father’s.

I never imagined I would live in a season where grief would come in waves like this — one after another, barely leaving space to breathe. I never imagined losing the two most important men in my life so close together.

My husband — my partner, my best friend, the one I chose.

My dad — my protector, my steady voice, the one who first loved me.

The grief is different. But it is equally deep.

Losing my husband shattered the life we were building together. Losing my dad feels like losing part of my foundation — the man who helped shape who I am. One was the love of my life. The other was the love that carried me into it.

And somehow, I’m here navigating both losses at the same time.

There are moments when the weight feels unbearable. I’ll catch myself waiting for my dad’s call — the one where he’d check in and ask if I was okay — and then I remember it’s not coming. Something happens with our daughter, and my first instinct is to text my husband, to share the moment like we always did… and then I remember. That second of forgetting hurts every time.

Grief has a way of ambushing you in ordinary moments.

Some days I feel strong. Other days, I feel like I’m barely standing. And if I’m honest, the only reason I am standing is because of God.

There are nights when I don’t even have words for prayer. Just tears. Just silence. Just “Lord, please.”

And somehow, that’s enough.

Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” I have never understood that verse more than I do now. I don’t always feel strong. I don’t always understand. But I have felt Him near.

Near in the quiet.
Near in the exhaustion.
Near when my heart aches for both my husband and my dad at the same time.

Losing two of the most important men in my life within four months has changed me. It has stripped away the illusion of control. It has reminded me how fragile this life is. And it has driven me to my knees more times than I can count.

But it has also deepened my faith.

Because when everything else feels uncertain, God is not.

When my world feels shaken, He is steady.

When I don’t know how to take the next step, He carries me.

I miss my husband every single day. I miss my dad in ways I’m still discovering. Their absence is loud. Their love is still everywhere.

And while my heart aches, I cling to the promise that this isn’t goodbye forever. As believers, we grieve with hope. We grieve knowing that heaven is real. We grieve knowing that one day, this brokenness will be redeemed.

Right now, I’m learning to breathe through grief.

One prayer at a time.
One day at a time.
One moment leaning on God at a time.

If you’re walking through loss — especially layered loss — I see you. It’s heavy. It’s confusing. It’s exhausting.

But God is near. Even here. Especially here.

And that is the only thing getting me through these days.