Father's Day and Grief: When the Day Arrives and He Is No Longer Here
I am writing this from the other side of a journey that opened more than I expected.
I am writing this as I leave India tonight, the second part of a journey that began in Turkey. Being here has carried a weight that I did not fully anticipate. Because India is where my father passed away seven years ago. He had just come to visit. And standing in the places that hold his memory, I felt his absence in a way that was both familiar and completely new.
I miss him so much.
I say that as a person, not as a therapist. As a daughter who still reaches for him in the quiet moments. Who still thinks, in the middle of something ordinary, I should tell him about this.
Father's Day is today. And I wanted to write to you not with clinical distance, but with honesty. Because grief does not take the day off. And the people who need this most are usually the ones who will scroll past every celebration post, quietly, and wonder why no one is writing for them.
This newsletter is for them. And it is for me too.
The Myth of Time Healing All Wounds
People say it constantly and they mean it kindly. Time heals. You will feel better. It gets easier.
I want to gently, but honestly, challenge that.
Seven years have passed since I lost my father. I have done the grief work. I have sat in the chair and done the hard thing. I have built a beautiful life and a meaningful career and I have found genuine joy again.
And I still felt wrecked standing in India this month.
Time does not heal grief. Time gives you more practice carrying it. It gives you more tools. It gives you distance from the sharpest edges. But grief for a person you truly loved does not disappear with the passage of years. On the significant days, the anniversaries, the holidays, the moments that were always supposed to include them, you can find yourself right back at the beginning. Not because you have failed at grief. Because you loved someone real.
That is not regression. That is love with nowhere to go.
"Time does not heal grief. It gives you more practice carrying it. And some days, you are still back at square one. That is not failure. That is love."
Father's Day Grief Belongs to Many
Before we go any further, I want to name something. Father's Day grief does not belong only to those who have lost a father to death.
It belongs to anyone whose relationship with a father is complicated, painful, or marked by absence. This day can be hard in many ways that rarely get spoken.
• Those whose father has died, recently or years ago
• Those whose father was physically present but emotionally absent
• Those estranged from a father by choice or circumstance
• Those with a father living with dementia or serious illness, grieving who he was
• Those who never knew their father
• Those who had a complicated, painful, or harmful relationship with their father
• South Asian daughters who loved their fathers across cultural distances that were never fully bridged
• Those whose own children have lost their father
• Those who wanted to be fathers and that door closed
If any of these is yours, your grief belongs here. All of it. Without qualification.
"Grief does not require a simple story. It only requires that someone mattered to you."
What People Say That Does Not Help
People who love us often say the wrong things when we are grieving. Not out of cruelty, but out of discomfort with grief itself. Our culture is not good at sitting with loss. We want to fix it, move it along, find the silver lining.
Here are some of the things grieving people hear most, and why they tend to land the wrong way.
WHAT PEOPLE SAY:
"At least he lived a long life."
WHY IT LANDS WRONG:
Loss is not measured by age. A person who was seventy was also someone's everything. The length of a life does not reduce the size of the hole it leaves behind.
WHAT PEOPLE SAY:
"He would want you to be happy."
WHY IT LANDS WRONG:
This may be true and it is also a pressure. The grieving person knows what their loved one would want. They do not need a reminder that they are not there yet.
WHAT PEOPLE SAY:
"Everything happens for a reason."
WHY IT LANDS WRONG:
For many people, especially those who are South Asian or from faith traditions, this can land as an invalidation of the pain. The loss is real regardless of any larger meaning that may or may not exist.
WHAT PEOPLE SAY:
"You need to move on. It has been X years."
WHY IT LANDS WRONG:
Grief has no timeline. This sentence tells a grieving person that their love has an expiration date. It does not. Saying this creates shame rather than comfort.
WHAT PEOPLE SAY:
"I know how you feel."
WHY IT LANDS WRONG:
Grief is specific. The loss of your father is yours. No one else has had that exact relationship, that exact history, that exact love. The intention is connection but the effect can feel like erasure.
WHAT PEOPLE SAY:
"Be strong for your family."
WHY IT LANDS WRONG:
This is particularly common in South Asian families and immigrant households. It tells the griever to suppress their own pain in service of others. The griever is also a person who deserves space for their own loss.
What helps is simpler and harder at the same time. I am so sorry. I am here. You do not have to explain it. Tell me about him. Those words create space instead of closing it.
Making Meaning With a New Reality
I want to be careful here, because making meaning is not the same as finding comfort in platitudes. It is not about deciding the loss was worth it, or that your father's death happened for a reason. It is something quieter and more personal than that.
Making meaning is about asking: Who was he? What did he give me? What of him is still alive in how I move through the world? And what do I want to carry forward?
For me, my father's warmth and his curiosity live in how I approach my work. His belief that people deserved to be heard lives in the therapy room every single day. I did not choose those things consciously. They are just there. He is just there, in the way I show up.
That is one kind of meaning. Not a consolation. Not a silver lining. Just a recognition that love does not stop moving when a person leaves.
What making meaning can look like
It looks different for every person and every relationship. It is not a required step or a destination. It is something that can emerge, slowly, when you are ready.
• Recognizing qualities you inherited or absorbed from your father
• Continuing something he loved, a recipe, a tradition, a way of being in the world
• Talking about him to people who did not know him, keeping him present in conversation
• Naming what he gave you, even if the relationship was complicated
• Finding a way to honor the loss that feels true to who he was
And sometimes making meaning is simply this: I loved him. He is gone. And that matters. That is enough.
"Making meaning is not finding a reason for the loss. It is finding a place for the love that has nowhere left to go."
Creating Rituals That Support You Through This Time
Ritual is one of the most powerful tools grief has available. Not because it fills the absence, but because it gives the grief somewhere to go. It creates a container for what is otherwise formless.
Father's Day, anniversaries, and significant dates are often harder precisely because they are culturally designed to mark presence. When someone is absent from those days, the day itself can feel like a wound. Ritual can transform the day from something that happens to you into something you actively shape.
Some rituals are small. Some are elaborate. What matters is that they are yours and they are intentional.
Cook something he loved.
Food holds memory in a way that is almost physical. Making his favorite dish, eating it in his honor, keeping his recipes alive is a form of continuing the relationship.
Write to him.
A letter, a journal entry, a note you never send. Grief often holds things that needed to be said. Writing can be a way of saying them.
Go somewhere that was his.
A park, a neighborhood, a place that held meaning for him. Being in a space he inhabited can bring a particular kind of closeness.
Say his name out loud.
In South Asian families, the names of the dead are sometimes avoided. Saying his name, speaking of him in the present tense of memory, keeps him present in a way that silence cannot.
Pray for him and with him.
In many South Asian, Muslim, and immigrant faith traditions, prayer is one of the most meaningful ways to maintain a continuing bond with someone who has passed. A Fatiha, a du’a, a quiet moment of intention. Prayer does not require certainty about what happens after death. It requires only love and the willingness to reach.
Give yourself permission to opt out.
You do not have to attend the Father's Day brunch, scroll the social media feeds, or perform okayness for anyone. Protecting your energy on this day is not avoidance. It is self-respect.
Let someone sit with you in it.
Grief is not meant to be carried alone. If there is someone who knew him, let them tell you a story about him. If there is someone who loves you, let them just be present without fixing anything.
A Word About the Fathers Who Are Still Here
I have been fortunate. My husband is an extraordinary father to our son. And my father-in-law has shown up for me during this loss in ways I did not expect and did not know I needed. That kind of presence is a gift I do not take lightly.
Watching my husband father our son has given me something I did not anticipate: a new kind of understanding of what my own father carried. The daily labor of it. The love in the ordinary moments. The weight of wanting to get it right.
If you have a father figure in your life who is present and loving, I hope this day holds genuine celebration. And I hope it holds, too, a recognition of what that presence costs and what it gives.
Both things can be true at once. Celebration and grief, joy and loss, presence and absence. Father's Day, for many of us, holds all of it simultaneously.
"He is not here. And he is still with me. Both of those things are true. And I am learning, slowly, to hold them both."
If this day is hard for you, I want you to know that you are not alone in it. The grief you are carrying is real. The love underneath it is real. And you do not have to perform okayness today or any day.
If you are ready to talk about what you are carrying, I am here.
About the Author
Ashma Hakani, LCSW-S is a licensed clinical social worker and the founder of Renewed Hope Therapy, PLLC. She specializes in grief, trauma, anxiety, and relationship issues, providing compassionate, culturally competent, and trauma-informed care. With over 18 years of experience, she utilizes evidence-based approaches to support her clients in building resilience and coping skills.
Ashma also offers clinical supervision and mental health education to individuals and communities. Her work is rooted in the belief that healing is a journey, and she is dedicated to walking alongside her clients every step of the way.
Intake Line: (832) 819-4128
