By Keely Rodriguez, LPC-S | Certified EMDR & Brainspotting Therapist | BRIA Certified Menopause Mental Health Provider
This post is educational. It isn’t a substitute for therapy or medical care.
The short version: If your mom or dad is still here but parts of them are slipping away, what you feel is grief. It has a name, ambiguous loss. You grieve it by letting it count, mourning what has already changed while you keep showing up for the rest. Guilt, irritation, and anxiety are part of it, not proof you are doing it wrong.
Your phone lights up with your mom’s name in the middle of a meeting. You step out, because you always step out. She’s asking, again, what day the eye doctor is. It’s on her calendar. It’s on yours.
You walk back in. Nobody can tell that something in your chest just dropped.
Here’s the plain answer. You grieve a parent who’s still alive by letting it count as grief. What you’re feeling has a name, ambiguous loss, and grieving it means mourning the parts of her that are already changing while you keep showing up for the rest.
Family researcher Pauline Boss coined the term “ambiguous loss” for losses that never get a clear ending. One kind she describes is a person who is physically here but psychologically less here, the way a parent with memory or health changes can be. A lot of the daughters I talk with put it more simply: here, but not here. (If you want to read the source, her book is Ambiguous Loss: Learning to Live with Unresolved Grief.)
If that phrase made your throat tighten a little, keep reading.
What does it mean to grieve someone who hasn’t died?
Grief isn’t only for funerals. It shows up in ordinary moments that nobody else notices.
It’s the mom who used to fix everything now handing you her mail to read. It’s the dad who taught you to drive in the church parking lot, and now you’re the one quietly hiding his car keys. It’s her calling you by your sister’s name, and you answering anyway.
What you’re losing is real, even if it’s hard to point at. The conversation you can’t have with her anymore. The parent you used to call when your own kid spiked a fever. The version of her who would have known exactly what to say about all of this.
Some of it is also grief for what’s coming. People call that anticipatory grief: mourning a loss you can already see down the road. Both kinds can live in you on the same Tuesday afternoon.
Why does grieving a parent who’s still alive feel so confusing?
Because there’s no ritual for it. Nobody brings a casserole when your dad forgets your birthday. Nobody sends flowers the week your mom stops cooking Thanksgiving.
It’s also hard to grieve and fix at the same time, and right now you’re the one fixing. The pill organizer. The insurance call. The portal message to her doctor. The sibling group text where you do most of the typing.
Then there’s the guilt. Grieving her can feel like giving up on her, like you’re writing her off while she’s sitting right across the table. And mixed in with the sadness, there might be irritation, impatience, even relief on the days she’s sharp. That mix is human. It doesn’t mean you love her less.
And it doesn’t end, so it never quite settles. Every new change is a fresh loss, and you’re expected to absorb it by Monday.
Why am I always the one carrying all of this?
You probably became the one everyone leans on for good reasons. You were organized. You were close by. You were the one who picked up. Maybe you’ve been the family’s emergency contact since long before anyone actually had an emergency.
That made sense. It still makes sense, because someone has to know which pharmacy she uses. It’s just costing a lot more now. Your kids still need rides to practice and help with the FAFSA. Your work still wants you sharp at 8 a.m. And your own body has started changing the rules without asking.
If the role of “the one who handles it” goes back a long way in your family, this post might also feel familiar: Are You Your Mom’s Therapist or Your Dad’s Peacekeeper?
Can grief show up as anxiety instead of sadness?
Yes, and for a lot of the women I work with, that’s exactly how it shows up first.
It can look like a tight chest every time her name pops up on your phone. Scrolling assisted living reviews at 1 a.m. Snapping at your teenager about the dishwasher and feeling awful about it ten minutes later. Or a strange flatness, where you know you should feel something and mostly feel drained.
Grief doesn’t always come out as tears. Sometimes it comes out as staying busy, because busy feels safer than sitting still with it. If you’ve been calling all of this stress, it might be grief wearing work clothes.
If your brain is the loudest at night, I wrote more about that here: Why Your Brain Won’t Turn Off at Night
How do I grieve a parent who’s still alive, practically?
A few things tend to help, and none of them require you to stop showing up for her.
Say it out loud. “I’m grieving my mom.” Even if you only say it in the car. Naming it changes how it sits in your body.
Let two things be true. She’s still here, and parts of her are slipping away. You don’t have to pick one.
Let the relationship change shape. You may not get the mom who gave advice. You might still get the mom who loves the same old songs and holds your hand in the waiting room.
Grieve the small things on purpose. The recipe she can’t remember. The way she used to tape your favorite show on the VCR without being asked. Small losses count.
What helps when you’ve already tried everything?
You’ve probably already tried the coping skills. The caregiver checklist. The podcast on the drive home. The breathing app at a red light. They helped a little, and then the next phone call undid it.
That’s not because you’re doing it wrong. This kind of grief doesn’t live only in your thoughts. It lives in your body, and it often ties back to older places, like who you had to be in your family long before anyone got sick.
This is the work I do with women who are grieving a parent who’s still here. In our work together, that looks like getting underneath the pattern instead of managing around it:
IFS (Internal Family Systems) helps us get to know the parts of you that are pulling in different directions. There’s usually a part that keeps everything running, and a part that’s still a daughter who just wants her mom.
Brainspotting can help when the grief sits in your body and there aren’t words for it yet.
EMDR can help with the moments that keep replaying: the call when she fell, the appointment when the doctor first said the word out loud.
I can’t promise how it will go for you. What I can tell you is that you don’t have to keep carrying it at a sprint while everyone assumes you’re fine.
When should I reach out for help with this kind of grief?
You don’t have to wait until it’s bad. It’s worth reaching out if:
You can’t remember the last time you felt like your own person.
The anger or numbness is spilling onto your partner or your kids.
You dread the phone, and then feel guilty for dreading it.
Old family stuff is coming back up while you care for her.
You feel alone in it, even with people all around you.
If any of that sounds like you, a free 15-minute consultation on Zoom is a low-pressure place to start. It isn’t therapy. It’s a chance to talk through what’s going on and see if working together makes sense. You can book it through the website. I see women in person in Brownsville and the Rio Grande Valley, and online anywhere in Texas.
If you want to know more about how I work with grief, including grief that got stuck, start with my grief therapy page.
Your mom is still here, and so is the grief. Both are real, and you’re allowed to have both. There’s room in this for her, and there’s room in it for you.
Frequently Asked Questions
Is it normal to grieve a parent who is still alive?
Yes. When a parent's memory, health, or independence starts to change, grief is a common and human response. It has names, including ambiguous loss and anticipatory grief, even if nobody around you is calling it that.
What is the difference between ambiguous loss and anticipatory grief?
Ambiguous loss is grief for a loss with no clear ending, like a parent who is here but not fully here. Anticipatory grief is mourning a loss you can see coming. Many women feel both at once.
Why do I feel guilty for grieving my mom when she's still here?
Grieving can feel like giving up on her, especially when you're the one taking care of her. But grieving what has changed isn't the same as letting go of her. You can mourn the old relationship and still love her as she is now.
Can I grieve my parent and still take care of them?
Yes, and most women I work with are doing exactly that. Grief and caregiving tend to happen side by side. Making room for the grief often makes the caregiving feel less heavy, not more.
Do you offer grief therapy online in Texas?
Yes. I see clients in person in Brownsville and the Rio Grande Valley, and online anywhere in Texas. You can start with a free 15-minute consultation on Zoom, booked through my website, to see if working together is a good fit for you.
I’m Keely Rodriguez, a Licensed Professional Counselor-S, Certified in EMDR and Brainspotting, and a BRIA Certified Menopause Mental Health Provider. I work with women who are the one everyone leans on, and who have already tried the apps, the worksheets, and the breathing exercises. I see clients in person in Brownsville and the Rio Grande Valley, and online anywhere in Texas. If this post sounded like your week, let’s talk about what’s underneath it for you.
