I was that little girl. My mum died when I was 2. I grew up fearing my dad would die all the time. He did die 11 years ago. Although I miss him every day I felt a sense of relief not to carry that worry with me every day now. But I would gladly carry it again to have him with me.
You wrote this with such tenderness that I almost felt that girl in the car breathing beside me. The way fear follows you through the years is a form of loyalty, a body remembering what once felt like abandonment. You’ve learned the lesson most therapists never write down: knowledge doesn’t save us from our ghosts. But you’re right, the only thing that softens loss is love, not prediction.
The child in you will always wait in the parking lot, but she waits now with someone who knows how to hold her hand.
I so recognise what you’ve written here. When my husband used to travel for work, every time I waved him off I felt that same fear — what if I never see him again, what if something happens? And now, even though my children are 22 and 25, the feeling hasn’t left me. Only last week I left them in a bar after a night out, and until I knew they were safely home, my mind was full of panics.
It feels hard-wired, this fear of losing those we love, even when we know they are safe. Like you, I’ve realised it never actually stops anything from happening — it doesn’t protect, it just drains me before there is anything real to grieve. I think, for many of us, it’s a child-part that never really stopped scanning the horizon for danger, convinced that if we’re vigilant enough, we’ll be spared the unthinkable.
Reading your words, I felt less alone with that part of me. It helps to remember, as you wrote so beautifully, that what carries us through loss is not worry, but the love and connection we build with those still beside us. That reminder — and knowing others carry this same fear too — makes the burden feel a little lighter. We may never stop fearing, but we don’t carry it alone. Thank you so much for sharing, for given words to the fear so many of us carry
Reading this was such a relief. To see I am not the only one to have struggled with such conflict. A fear that once protected in exchange of joy was a contract I was willing to fulfill forever, until I saw my own son struggling with the crippling anxiety too. I lost my mom in a devastating way decades ago, my fear has exponentially grown every year since I have been a father- what if something happens to me? That is the question I wrestled with, it keeps me awake some nights, it keeps me asleep way into late mornings at times. Yet I am trying to allow my own fear to teach me where I have not allowed it to be, because that’s where the joy my boy needs from me is hiding. Thank you for sharing this with us 🙏
I'm sorry this is a shared fear, but I totally get it. For me, it's always a desire to control, but it's only in my adult life that I realize it will never work. The fear still comes up, but I try to talk to it differently now.
Thank you for sharing this. Your words landed hard for me. I live with anxiety, and pre-worrying loss is something I know well. I carry anticipatory grief for my mom, and fear for my son—almost 25, in the Navy, living across the country, about to begin special training.
Some days it feels almost superstitious—like if I worry enough, I can somehow keep the worst from happening. Like taking my eye off the ball would tempt fate.
I’m hopping on a plane to see my son for the holidays, trying to stay in the now, even as the future feels foggy. Your words were a grounding reminder that loving deeply and fearing loss often walk hand in hand—and that I’m not alone in this.
Thank you for sharing your vulnerability this morning with us. The unpacking of your childhood fear that still resonates is far more common than people often like to admit, but you were willing to share a deep part of your life that many can look to as a sense of belonging if they too struggle with the uncertainty of loss or abandonment. I read an article yesterday by someone I consider a new friend. Her Substack is @nikki the death doula and this is the primary article I am referring to. Consider checking it out: https://open.substack.com/pub/nikkideathdoula/p/understanding-the-impact-of-sudden?r=6fsufr&utm_medium=ios
I was that little girl. My mum died when I was 2. I grew up fearing my dad would die all the time. He did die 11 years ago. Although I miss him every day I felt a sense of relief not to carry that worry with me every day now. But I would gladly carry it again to have him with me.
Thank you for sharing this. I think for many of us it is just the cost of really loving someone is carrying that fear of losing them.
You wrote this with such tenderness that I almost felt that girl in the car breathing beside me. The way fear follows you through the years is a form of loyalty, a body remembering what once felt like abandonment. You’ve learned the lesson most therapists never write down: knowledge doesn’t save us from our ghosts. But you’re right, the only thing that softens loss is love, not prediction.
The child in you will always wait in the parking lot, but she waits now with someone who knows how to hold her hand.
I have tears in my eyes. Yes, she is no longer alone, she was waiting for me the whole time. A wholehearted thank you for this.
I so recognise what you’ve written here. When my husband used to travel for work, every time I waved him off I felt that same fear — what if I never see him again, what if something happens? And now, even though my children are 22 and 25, the feeling hasn’t left me. Only last week I left them in a bar after a night out, and until I knew they were safely home, my mind was full of panics.
It feels hard-wired, this fear of losing those we love, even when we know they are safe. Like you, I’ve realised it never actually stops anything from happening — it doesn’t protect, it just drains me before there is anything real to grieve. I think, for many of us, it’s a child-part that never really stopped scanning the horizon for danger, convinced that if we’re vigilant enough, we’ll be spared the unthinkable.
Reading your words, I felt less alone with that part of me. It helps to remember, as you wrote so beautifully, that what carries us through loss is not worry, but the love and connection we build with those still beside us. That reminder — and knowing others carry this same fear too — makes the burden feel a little lighter. We may never stop fearing, but we don’t carry it alone. Thank you so much for sharing, for given words to the fear so many of us carry
Thank you so much for sharing this. For validating it, it always feels tender to put that voice of little me out there.
Your voice is tender but universal. You hold up a mirror and show us whar it means to love
Reading this was such a relief. To see I am not the only one to have struggled with such conflict. A fear that once protected in exchange of joy was a contract I was willing to fulfill forever, until I saw my own son struggling with the crippling anxiety too. I lost my mom in a devastating way decades ago, my fear has exponentially grown every year since I have been a father- what if something happens to me? That is the question I wrestled with, it keeps me awake some nights, it keeps me asleep way into late mornings at times. Yet I am trying to allow my own fear to teach me where I have not allowed it to be, because that’s where the joy my boy needs from me is hiding. Thank you for sharing this with us 🙏
I'm sorry this is a shared fear, but I totally get it. For me, it's always a desire to control, but it's only in my adult life that I realize it will never work. The fear still comes up, but I try to talk to it differently now.
Thank you for sharing this. Your words landed hard for me. I live with anxiety, and pre-worrying loss is something I know well. I carry anticipatory grief for my mom, and fear for my son—almost 25, in the Navy, living across the country, about to begin special training.
Some days it feels almost superstitious—like if I worry enough, I can somehow keep the worst from happening. Like taking my eye off the ball would tempt fate.
I’m hopping on a plane to see my son for the holidays, trying to stay in the now, even as the future feels foggy. Your words were a grounding reminder that loving deeply and fearing loss often walk hand in hand—and that I’m not alone in this.
You are definitely not alone and I'm so glad the words were connecting.
Remembering walking home
From the grocery store
10 lb bag in my arms
Wondering if I would make it
Home in time before
The Cuban Missile Strike swallowed
Me up
That is true terror!
I remember that day too.
Could it be
The threat of loss
Is an instinct of awareness
She who feels the threat
Saves the herd
Loss is a physical reality
Yet anticipation of loss
Is a psyche reality
Especially for those whom
Appreciate what they “have”
Instincts are survival driven
Some threats manifest
Some don’t
Create the balance between
Fear of loss and
Hope for another day
Yes. So much of the fear is a survival instinct.
Thank you for sharing your vulnerability this morning with us. The unpacking of your childhood fear that still resonates is far more common than people often like to admit, but you were willing to share a deep part of your life that many can look to as a sense of belonging if they too struggle with the uncertainty of loss or abandonment. I read an article yesterday by someone I consider a new friend. Her Substack is @nikki the death doula and this is the primary article I am referring to. Consider checking it out: https://open.substack.com/pub/nikkideathdoula/p/understanding-the-impact-of-sudden?r=6fsufr&utm_medium=ios
That piece resonates, thank you for leaving it here and thank you always for your thoughtful comments.
You are out here doing the hard work, and I want to support you because I believe in your words and reflection.
A Huge thank you for that.
Always, friend.