The death of your parent changes everything. It severs the invisible cord that tethered you to this earth. You are not alone if you feel that functioning after your parent dies feels impossible.

When my mom died three years ago, it was as if the world had stopped turning. I was frozen, floating, desperately looking behind me and wishing I could go back in time. But the only way to go, the only path available was forward and on, and my heart and mind just wouldn’t move. I couldn’t move on without her. The world was different without her in it. Even the air had changed. The oxygen was too thin, or at times too heavy. I felt like I no longer belonged. I was different. Irrevocably changed and no longer compatible with life among non-grieving humans.

The beginning will be rough.

In the days immediately following your parent’s death, particularly if it was sudden or a surprise, you may not function well at all. In the very beginning all I could do was cry in bed. Standing up was hard. Often I would crumple to the ground, still crying. Eventually I managed to take sips of water. I did the bare minimum to stay alive.

I think most people generally understand that early, raw grief can be like that. But when the funeral guests go home, your grief remains. It is still so powerful and immediate in your life. When your mother or father dies, it’s common for some aspects of you, the old you, the person you were before, to shift dramatically or to no longer function at all. You will see the world differently, perhaps just for a little while or maybe even forever.

Hold on to what you hold dear. Let go of the rest.

In the months after my mom died I could only see that which was most important and critical to life–the health, safety, and well being of my children, and, to a lesser degree, my own health and safety. All of the rest fell away.

I suppose some could argue that I wasn’t functioning. I like to think that in a way I became conveniently more low maintenance. Generally I never went out with at least some basic makeup such as face powder and mascara, but after my mom died I didn’t care about my face. I didn’t care if people saw my natural skin with all of its flaws.

I didn’t care what clothing I wore, as long as it was comfortable. I’ve donated most of my clothing and now only wear a small wardrobe of basics. I stopped dressing up. I stopped caring if I needed a pop of color and gravitated toward wearing simply black or gray. I became practical and comfortable. I don’t own anything that needs to be ironed. I don’t separate whites from darks on laundry day. I stopped enjoying shopping for clothing. I no longer want to maintain a large inventory of items. It feels exhausting and unimportant. What I have is enough. I have gray hair and do not cover it. My children call them my fairy strands. I stopped using hair products, and instead almost always opt for one single braid, a basic low bun, or a hat.

Some say that after a relationship breakup a woman will either cut her hair or let it grow out. It’s something to do with the major change and moving in another direction. Obviously I didn’t break up with my mother when she died, but something inside me certainly did break.

The Before and The After.

I separate life now into two time periods–before she died and after she died. Before she died, I had my hair cut at a salon about every six months. After she died, I completely forgot about hair maintenance. At least a year passed before it occurred to me that I should maybe trim my split ends. My hair grew out and grew long, and is now most of the way down my back. I don’t go to salons. I just don’t have the mental energy to care or to engage. My hair is long enough that I can pull it around to the front, and just barely trim the ends myself every few months. It’s possibly an uneven disaster, but I don’t care enough to do anything about it.

There were so many changes. In a way losing my mother made me grow up. I can more easily see what is important, and have generally stopped feeling that I need certain material things to be okay or to feel good. I am more content with who I am and what I have, maybe because I know I can’t change it. After her death I became untethered, less tied to the complicated life I had before.

And to be clear, I’m not bashing makeup or fun clothing or hairstyles or people who find those things enjoyable or even necessary. We are all different, with different needs and joys. Those are just a few examples of some of the things that fell away for me, along with complicated grocery shopping or meal planning, posting regularly on social media, and anything that used to make me feel like I needed to keep up with the pace of life swirling around me.

Grief made me simple and quiet. It put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Stop. You are going to be here a while.”

Be gentle with yourself during this transition.

Grief can make you cry at work. Or you might break down inside the grocery store. If you are grieving and having a hard time functioning, it is okay to take shortcuts, skip steps, and cut out things that are not essential to your health and well-being. You can decline invitations. You don’t have to go all out the way you did before.

You may have to take it slow. If you were particularly close to your mom or dad before they died, resuming life in this new world can be like learning to walk all over again. Life is going to be wobbly for a while.

Reach out for support.

Enlist help if you can. Reach out to family or friends. Talk to a therapist as often as possible. Hang out with your pet if you have one, or consider getting one if you don’t. I have a black cat named Jasper who seems to know when I am feeling my worst. He will curl up next to me and lean in, and his quiet warmth helps when I feel so alone.

I am not neurotypical. I am over age 40. I have given birth twice. Maybe combining those characteristics with deep grief results in a severe lack of function. Checklists and post-it notes are essentials. My Alexa speaker helps me with reminders necessary for the level of executive function required of a busy mother of two.

There are days I check off almost everything on my to do list. Of course there are also days I do not function well and accomplish nothing, like the one when I was with a friend, and her phone rang. It was her mom, and I sneaked away so she could take the call, then went home and cried just for a while, wishing my phone would ring, too.

The transformation process.

It can be so hard to accept change. Especially if that change comes from a deep loss. Sometimes what feels like you might not be functioning is actually your response to the changes you’re experiencing. You are not only grieving the loss of your mom or dad, but also of The Before. You are changed. The shape of your world has changed. It is a lot to take in, acknowledge, and eventually accept.

You are stepping into this new world with experienced eyes. You have seen things. You carry yourself with a new strength. You may not know that it is there yet, but you have felt deep loss, and it alters how you interact with the world and those in it. You will begin to develop x-ray vision for what is important and what has meaning. You will more easily see the needs of others.

Give yourself grace in this time of transition, when you feel you can’t function, when life feels clunky and off, or you need to rest. You are metamorphosing, gradually shifting to a new chapter of your life. You are recrystallizing. You feel the changes bubbling inside.

This is an important time to care for yourself. Ease your expectations. Cut yourself some slack. The new you is coming into being, armed with both love and grief, two powerful and frightening forces. You can get through this. You can move forward.

I know the path is difficult and at times hard to see. Though your world has come crashing down and you have fallen far, you can bounce and not break. You may feel like a foreigner in a new country, but in fact you are a voyager. Moving on, discovering your place and what you have to offer.

Hold onto your heart, grieving friend. You are not alone.