When a Parent Dies: Dealing With the Loss of a Parental Figure

By Kenneth J. Doka, Ph.D.

Tyrone was never close to his dad. No matter how hard he tried, he never seemed to please his father. A sports dad, he always chided Tyrone, finding faults in whatever game Tyrone played. After Tyrone’s parents divorced, his father was more absent than present. The times they were together soon degenerated into conflict. Contact deteriorated even more as Tyrone went to college. They would share some hurried time at Christmas but little beyond that. Tyrone invited his father and stepmother to college events, but his father was angry they were not officially recognized at the ceremony or reception. Despite their difficult relationship, Tyrone is surprised by his grief after his father’s death. He constantly berates himself for not actively trying to repair the relationship in the waning years of his father’s life.

Barbara, who grew up with three brothers, always prided herself on being “daddy’s girl.” She loved her dad deeply. A lawyer, he delighted in Barbara’s achievements and adventures, as well as her sunny personality. When her mother died, there was little surprise that she invited her father to move in with her family. At first, it was all she had hoped it would be. Dad was always a willing babysitter, liked to help around the house and often quietly assisted financially. Barbara was also overjoyed that her husband welcomed her dad and that they were soon golfing together. The last two years, though, were difficult as her father developed dementia. He became challenging to manage and seemed angry all the time. Caregiving became a major responsibility. When her dad died, Barbara was relieved that both of their sufferings were now over. Now, she feels guilty that she could ever harbor such thoughts over a father who was so good to her.

While relatively few of us will have to cope with the deaths of our children, and some of us may deal with the deaths of our spouses, most of us will have to face the deaths of our parents. The death of a parent is often our first significant loss, our first encounter with grief.

The death of a parent brings difficulties and challenges. We may have to comfort or assist the surviving parent, our siblings or, in the case of a parent-in-law, our spouse. We may have to support our own children even as we grieve. If, as in the examples of Tyrone and Barbara, our relationships were complicated in life or at the time of death, our grief may be complicated as well.

Parents always leave their legacies. Some are tangible, like an inheritance we receive. However, far more important are the intangible “inheritances”—the habits, coping techniques, values and beliefs that parents inevitably impart to their offspring. Some of these are positive and help us as we cope with our grief. Other legacies, such as Tyrone’s, may be liabilities, regrets about the relationship or challenges to our self-esteem.

Although this is a near universal loss and possibly our first significant loss, we are never fully prepared for the effects parental loss can have. We may realize that we can be orphaned, even as adults.

When a parent dies suddenly

I am often asked whether it is easier to lose a parent after a long illness or a sudden death. My answer will be unsurprising: Both are miserable ways to lose a parent.

Our parents can die from traditionally sudden occurrences such as accidents, suicides, homicides or events such as heart attacks, strokes or other acute illnesses. Each of these causes can have complicating factors. Suicides can generate blame, guilt, shame and stigma. In homicides, there are numerous complicating factors, such as the violent and traumatic nature of the event. We may even experience a sense of secondary or vicarious trauma as we try to envision our parent’s last moments. We may also be angered or distressed by media accounts of the death or disturbed by the pace of an investigation or the experience and decisions of the criminal justice system. We may experience some of the same reactions if our parent died in an accident where their death was caused, however unintentionally, by the actions of another.

Whenever we deal with sudden loss, we are likely to experience a sense of shock, disbelief and unreality that slowly diminishes as we journey with grief. It is always difficult to believe that someone who seemed so well yesterday is now deceased. The nature of traumatic death also creates a sense of vulnerability. The world no longer seems predictable or secure. We may feel increased levels of fear and anxiety.

Our grief may be complicated by unfinished business. We never had the time or opportunity to express our love one last time or to say goodbye. We may feel guilty about things that were said or unsaid.

Even when death comes in such a sudden way, we still may struggle with varied ethical issues at life’s end. Tom’s older mother fell down a flight of stairs. There was hope that once the swelling in her brain would lessen, she would regain consciousness or even make a full recovery. She was placed on a respirator. After a few days, it was becoming clear that she was unlikely to recover. The hospital suggested that she be taken off the respirator. Tom and his siblings were not ready to make the decision at this point. The tragic blessing was that Tom’s mother died a few hours later on her own and on the respirator, sparing the family an agonizing decision.

Chronic illness, caregiving and death

In other, perhaps more common cases, the parent dies after a long chronic illness. Here, there may initially be hope that our parent can be cured or at least that a serious decline may be delayed for months or even years.

That was the hope when Ricardo’s dad was diagnosed with cancer. There was a hope that chemotherapy could buy time.

For a while, it did, but then Ricardo and the family witnessed a continued slow decline in health. Ricardo spoke to the physician and asked his dad’s doctor to let him know if and when hospice care would be appropriate. This is an important point, as doctors can be as reluctant to share bad news as families are to hear such news. Indicating a willingness to tolerate these difficult discussions allows channels of communication to remain open.

After four months, the doctor called and told the family that care could now only be palliative. That is, there was no serious chance that further chemotherapy could cure or even delay the progress of the disease. The goal that remained was to keep his dad as pain free and comfortable as possible. Ricardo arranged for hospice care.

Even with the help from hospice, Ricardo and his family took on caregiving responsibilities. They recognized that their mother was aging as well and could not care for her husband alone. Fortunately, all three siblings lived close enough to share caregiving responsibilities.

Even in the best of circumstances, this can be difficult. The difficulty of caregiving is not only difficult to offer, it is equally hard to accept. Few adults want to be dependent on others, especially their children, for the most intimate actions of bathing and toilet use. Inevitably, tensions arose between dad and his children, between the siblings and even with their mom. Most of the time, the family was able to resolve these issues among themselves. However, a few times, the hospice social worker arranged family meetings to share information and soothe tensions within the family.

Caregiving may be physically exhausting. Like many terminally ill patients, Ricardo’s dad was bedbound. There were more than a few nights when the caregiver’s sleep was too disturbed to assist in bringing a bedpan or some other task that needed to be done. Stress due to the extra work and the lack of sleep may create conflicts that subsequently generate feelings of guilt and regret. This can be compounded when there are conflicts between caregivers.

In addition, in cases of slow decline, we feel our lives are on hold. We are reluctant to make plans, not really knowing what the future holds. We hesitate to travel or plan vacations. We feel we are living in a state of suspended animation. For some of us, we may truly be sandwiched between our responsibility for our parents and other responsibilities, such as our jobs, family and the needs of our own children. In other cases, we may have responsibilities to multiple sets of parents, such as our parents and in-laws!

Ricardo took some comfort that they were able to fulfill his dad’s wish to die at home—in large part thanks to the help the family received from hospice. Some of us may face caregiving responsibilities with a sense of emptiness, and necessary care transitions such as nursing home placement might generate guilt.

At the very beginning of working with individuals struggling with caregiving, I often ask my clients to indicate when it might be too difficult to continue home care. I do this for three reasons. First, it helps us acknowledge that there may come a time when it is too difficult to offer care. Second, it assists us in clarifying what situations may create insurmountable burdens. Finally, most of us go beyond whatever we initially believe to be a line. Thus, we have a sense of satisfaction rather than failure. I also emphasize that even if we do place our parent in a facility, we still remain caregivers. Our caregiving role now is more of advocacy.

There are factors that can increase the sense of burden. Dementia, of course, adds much to the caregiving burden. Here, it may be difficult to see our parent with dementia as the person we once loved and to retain a relationship or connection with the person who once was. Not only are the burdens of care excessive, but the joys are largely absent. There are no opportunities to reminisce about better days or even receive thanks for the endless toil.

This was extremely difficult for Adriana. Her mother would often complain to Adriana and others that Adriana had not fed her when, in fact, Adriana had. Moreover, despite a once close relationship, Adriana’s mom never called her by name or even seemed to acknowledge that she was her daughter.

Other factors also increase the sense of caregiver burden. One, of course, is incontinence. It is difficult to have to change an adult’s diaper. This can be emotionally trying for both a parent and an adult child. Naturally, caring for a parent who is bedridden and immobile creates other challenges as well. In such cases, we may need to continue to position the patient to avoid painful bedsores and, among other things, we may need to assist with bathing and bathroom use as well.

While factors such as incontinence, dementia and immobility add to a sense of caregiving burden, they are eclipsed by another factor: past relationships. This is what made caregiving so difficult for Tyrone. He deeply resented caring for his father, questioning why he should be taking time away from his family and job for a father who, when he was present in his childhood, always seemed to berate him.

In addition to caregiving, we might also struggle with negotiating with physicians, other medical professionals or medical institutions. This can be complicated when there is no agreement on the goals of care. It may be that the treating physicians do not all agree with the goal of palliative care or understand it the same way. Some may pressure for continued treatments. It is certainly within your right to question physicians on whether they agree that the goal now could only be palliative and how their suggestions might contribute to the comfort of the patient. These difficult end-of-life decisions, such as withholding or withdrawing treatment, can sometimes create conflict and discord within families, engender regrets and complicate our grief.

As we watch someone we love decline slowly, we may grieve each and every sense of personal diminishment that we witness: the inability to walk, the loss of consciousness or lapses of memory. Each decline generates another loss and fresh grief. As death approaches, we may be torn by ambivalence—wishing a peaceful release, wanting the person to return to who they once were, wishing to stay in the moment with the dying person and simply wanting it to end so we can go on with our life. These mixed feelings, too, can complicate our grief.

Perhaps sometimes we make too much of a distinction between a sudden death and death after a chronic illness. Even with chronic illness, death can seem sudden. Perhaps the final decline was much more rapid than expected. Many older parents have multiple chronic illnesses that may make death difficult to predict. Or, it may be that the individual lingered for so long, that we just assumed they would make it to Thanksgiving, a birthday or when someone returned home. Sometimes, however long the illness and predictable the death, we are simply not ready for that person to die.

The effects of a parent’s death: our first journey with grief

For many of us, the death of a parent will be our first significant loss and perhaps our first journey or experience with grief. Often, we are surprised both by the intensity as well as the complexity of our reactions. We often experience a hive of feelings, such as sadness, loneliness, anxiety, jealousy, guilt, anger and even perhaps a sense of relief—simultaneously. We may not have realized how grief will affect us. We may be unprepared for varied physical reactions such as a sense of emptiness in the stomach or the aches and pains that accompany grief. Our grief may impair our thinking. We may find it difficult to concentrate or focus. We may even reach out to our parent—for a moment, thinking they are still there for us.

Bianca, for example, found that for months after her mom’s death, she would pick up the phone to ask her mom a question—even begin to dial her mother—before recognizing the loss. Our behaviors may change as well. Bianca found that at the oddest moments, she would sometimes become tearful as she remembered her mom. We may have spiritual reactions as well—perhaps a sense of comfort from our beliefs or, in other cases, alienation and doubt.

We may be shocked at the length of the grieving process. If we've not experienced a significant loss before, we may expect that our grief would not last much longer than the funeral. Now, we find that our journey with grief is long. We experience the ups and downs, days when our grief seems intense and others where we seem to function well. We may be surprised how the smallest event—a call from a sibling or a peek at a photo—can create a surge of grief. The holidays now seem both different and difficult. We are journeying on unfamiliar ground.

Awareness of mortality

The loss of a parent may have another effect on us. It may sharpen our own awareness of mortality. When we are young—perhaps by 7 or 8 years of age—we learned that people die. We know what that means. We understand that death is universal, unpredictable and inevitable. We comprehend that the dead do not function. We now know it is irreversible. Even at that young age, we know something of the causes of death and we have begun to explore our beliefs about the afterlife.

Although there is a wide gap between abstractly knowing that people die and personalizing it to knowing that someday, I will die. Some of my work has been on just that: the awareness of personal mortality. For most of us, this sharpened and personal awareness of mortality begins sometime in midlife. There are factors that generally occur in midlife that generate this awareness. One is that we cannot “double our age,” reminding us of the finiteness of life. When I am 25, I can reasonably wonder what life will be like when I am 50 years old. But once I hit 50, it becomes difficult to imagine life at 100!

A second reason is that we see our own aging. We become aware of the increasing limitations of age. There are things we no longer can do. By 40, most of us will need glasses. We recognize that we no longer have the energy we once had. Third, we may experience the deaths of friends—not from accidents or suicides, but from disease—thereby increasing our own sense of vulnerability.

A fourth major reason for the increased awareness of mortality in midlife is that we experience the death of our parents. As long as our parents live, there is a sense, however illusionary, that we are safe. After all, in the natural order of things, they should pass first. A friend tells a story of a family funeral. It was in this case, the last of their parental generation died, where all the cousins noted that the only times they seemed to get together was at funerals. They thought they ought to begin to schedule family reunions. It was at that moment that his 8-year-old son piped up that the next funeral was going to be “one of you guys.” The odds were that the boy was right, even though there would likely be a long interim before the next funeral.

This awareness of mortality has both positive and negative aspects. As we become aware of our mortality, our anxiety about death may increase. This may be one reason that when we are in midlife, we are likely to have higher death anxiety than we will as we continue to age. We may begin to more actively prepare for death—writing a will and advance directives, for example. We may have increased concern with our health as we now schedule annual physicals. We may revisit our spirituality, showing renewed concern about what occurs after death. Some aspects of the awareness of our mortality may enhance our lives. We may reshuffle our priorities, spending more time with family and friends. The awareness of our mortality often causes us to take stock of our relationships; by appreciating the shortness of life, we may decide to nurture the relationships that we value and shed those that are toxic.

We may even find that we have a renewed zest for life. For Tyrone, the death of his father reinforced his desire to build a positive relationship with his son. Now that he realized that time was limited, Tyrone stopped delaying experiences and activities he wanted to share with his son. The death of a parent then may very well change our orientation to death and life.

Changes in relationships

Families are systems. The roles that family members play, the interactions between kin and the ways they behave toward one another all fit together. When we remove one part—one member of the family—that system will have to change. So when a parent dies, we may find that all the relationships within the family are different.

Certainly, our relationship with the surviving parent is likely to change. As our surviving parent adapts to the loss of a partner, they may undergo many personal changes. Some might become more independent, finding strengths we never knew existed. Others may be crippled by the loss, wallowing in grief. Any and all of these changes may affect us. We may become worried with the ways our surviving parent is reacting to the loss. Certainly, we may wish to keep an eye on our parents. Are they taking their medications? Has there been significant weight changes since the death? Are there signs of depression? For example, does mom mill around all day in a house dress or does she, once meticulous, now seem unkempt or the house untidy?

Sometimes, the problem may be ours. Frank’s mother, Gail, spent five years caring for his dad. She was a devoted caregiver, and Frank deeply respected her for her commitment and dedication. Yet, within months after her husband died, Gail seemed to come alive in a way Frank had never seen. She became active in a group of seniors. She began to travel on day and weekend trips. At her 75th birthday party, Frank felt anger that his mother seemed to be flirting with some of her male friends. While his siblings did not have any difficulty—even rejoicing in mom’s new life—Frank could not shake the feeling that his mother was disloyal to his dad’s memory. In counseling, Frank realized that his image of how his mother should be—in some state of perpetual mourning—was not only unrealistic but unkind.

We may have to take on new roles with our parents. For example, if dad handled the finances, you or one of your siblings may have to teach or assist your surviving parent in handling the finances. Some of us may find that our parents have become increasingly needy, calling us for every small repair or minor problem. While we wish—and perhaps should—be there when we can, we also have to realize our own limits and the dangers of creating unnecessary dependencies.

We can teach helplessness by allowing ourselves to be used to solve every problem and ease all difficulties. If dependency needs are real, we need not do it alone. We may see what help is available within our own family as well as within community resources. We may even wish to seek the help of a professional, such as a care manager, who can both assess the needs of an aging parent and help connect us with the variety of services that might be available.

We may find our relationship with a surviving parent creates a new closeness. When my dad died, I loved to hear my mother’s stories of their courtship, sentimental stories that would have embarrassed my dad while he lived. My dad was an excellent student. When they first started dating in high school, my mom feared that her new scholarly boyfriend would break up with her when he heard about the low grade she received in history. Dad found her crying. When he heard the reason, he simply laughed, kissed her and told her that he did not care what her history grade was. After all, he did not want to study history with her; he wanted to make history with her! These stories gave me a new appreciation of both my parents and a new sense of closeness with my mom.

In other cases, the loss of one parent may lead to an estrangement with the surviving parent. This can deeply complicate our loss as we find ourselves dealing with not one loss but two. There can be a number of reasons for such an unfortunate estrangement. In some cases, the deceased parent may have served as a buffer, smoothing relations with the other parent. Jordan had that role. Her husband, Paul, could be curt and judgmental, but Jordan could always reason with him, easing ruffled feathers with the children. When Jordan died, Paul quickly alienated his kids.

In other cases, it is the stress of grief that exacerbates tensions and engenders conflict. We each have had our own loss, and we each deal with grief in our own way. Sometimes, the ways we cope may not make sense or even conflict with another person’s perspective. Some of us, for example, may wish to avoid conversation, while others seek to share memories. However, we cope with loss, grief is stressful. When we are stressed, it is easy to lash out at those near us. Finally, when a parent dies, as we noted, it often places new demands on and generates new issues for the children. These rising demands and issues can be a source of confrontation and estrangement.

Our relationships with our siblings may change as well. In some cases, our shared grief and our experiences may forge stronger relationships between us. In addition, shared responsibilities for taking care of the surviving parent can foster communication and engender stronger relationships. Yet, the same factors can increase conflicts. We may have different reactions and patterns than our siblings, which may cause misunderstanding and miscommunication.

Both grief—even as we anticipate the loss—and caregiving are stressful, and it is easy in stressful situations to lash out at those closest to us. Moreover, as we engage in caregiving, we may resent siblings whom we perceive are critical or feel are not helping enough. Parents can also be mediators, helping us negotiate our relationship with our siblings. When a parent dies, the common focus offered by that parent and the role that parent played in mediating conflicts is no longer available. Typically, we find that if the relationship with our sibling was generally good, it will remain so—perhaps even become closer. However, if it was poor prior, the death of a parent can increase conflict.

It is not just relationships within our family of origin that change; other relationships may change as well. We may find that our relationship with our spouse is now different. There can be many reasons for that. As in other cases, we can find that the relationship has been strengthened. It may be that as we deal with our loss, we find new appreciation in the support we receive. Or we may have a new commitment to our relationships and new priorities due to our emerging awareness of our own mortality.

Tyrone found that his relationship with his wife, Alyssa, became much stronger. Alyssa was supportive as Tyrone shared with her his grief and his struggles with his father. She gained insight into Tyrone and was touched by a sensitivity he had previously not shown so openly. Alyssa appreciated the renewed commitment he had to his own children, arising from Tyrone’s concerns that he might not repeat his own father’s mistakes.

Yet once again, changes may not always be as positive. The strains and stress of caregiving a parent may create conflict, as it is difficult to manage demands for our parent as well as for our own spouse and children. While some spouses may be supportive of our grief, others, especially if they have not experienced loss or have a different behavioral pattern, may become impatient both with the varied reactions we have as well as with the intensity and duration of our grief. Thus, Bianca’s relationship with her husband suffered as he had little toleration for her continued weeping over her mother’s death.

Other factors can be more subtle. We often vent to our parents about the conflicts we experience with our spouse. That parent listens, offering a safety valve, a chance to blow off steam. They may perhaps offer advice. That relationship can offer subtle support to our relationship. Now, it is missing.

We can see similar issues as we deal with our own children. They, too, are dealing with the loss of a grandparent, grieving in their own way. In some cases, the relationship and, therefore, their grief may be intense. The grandparent may have even been a significant caregiver for our children, and the absence of the grandparent can significantly change our interactions and relationship with our child.

As with spouses, children, too, can resent the time and effort we spent on caregiving for our parent. They may be ambivalent at the death, missing the grandparent but pleased to have parental attention again. Or they may become anxious as they try to understand their parent’s grief. Perhaps they may be frightened by their “strong” parent becoming tearful.

In other situations, they may grieve the absence of a meaningful relationship due to physical distance or simply the poor relationship of the grandparent to the parent. Grandparents, after all, are a mediated relationship. Our children’s relationships and access to their grandparents will be heavily influenced by our relationships with our parents. When the parent-child relationship is poor, grandparents may have a very limited, even nonexistent relationship with their grandchild. Tyrone’s eldest son, for example, grieved the fact that he never really knew his grandfather.

Relations with others, such as other kin or even friends, can change. The death of a parent may loosen bonds with other members of our extended family. We may draw closer to friends we find supportive and more distant from those that seem to have little patience with us as we cope with our grief.

And, of course, some of us may experience little change in any of our relationships. We might have a supportive network of family and friends, as we expected. Or our own resilience may be a relational gyroscope that manages to maintain a stability in our relationships even as we cope with loss. For many of us, the death of a parent is, however painful, an expected event at some point in our lives. We are also in the midst of our own lives—perhaps once on hold—and our responsibilities of work and family both comfort and engulf us.

Orphaned in adulthood: The death of both parents

The death of our second parent may create some additional issues for us. Some of us may even describe ourselves as adult orphans—emphasizing that we are now parentless. Others may find such a label meaningless. When both parents die, though, it has both some very subtle and obvious effects. Our parents, even as we and they age, still continue to play roles in our lives. We do remain, as oxymoronic as it sounds, adult children.

We still may look to our parents as sources of unconditional love and security. Their homes still remain our last refuge. They still may be our cheerleaders, vicariously proud of each achievement. We count on them for permission and advice. We may even depend on them for very practical tasks—loans, child sitting, even pet care. Whenever I was stumped in trying to balance my checking account, I could always count on my dad—a financial whiz—to find the hidden error.

When our parents die, it creates a development push. We now become the eldest generation in the family. There is no one to lean upon any longer. We take on new responsibilities as we become even more autonomous, perhaps more mature.

Parentless parents

If we are not adult orphans, we may very well be parentless parents. Grandparents may not only play a significant role in the lives of their grandchildren but also have a vital role in our life as we parent.

This role may take many forms. In some cases, grandparents can be significant caregivers. Around one in 10 grandparents have highly significant roles in raising their grandchildren, offering free childcare or sometimes even obtaining temporary or permanent custody. Other grandparents may still be significant supports to their child, even if their role is not so consuming.

Grandparents may help in a number of ways: babysitting on occasion, picking up a sick child at school, subbing for parents at sports events or recitals when the parent may not be available or simply offering respite from the ongoing demands of a young child. Even grandparents who live at a distance may still provide such services. For example, one mother would schedule her New York visits in the interim between her grandchild’s school and camp. Others might take the child on vacation or for an extended visit. Many might offer financial assistance, quietly picking up tuition or camp bills or buying those special extras.

Beyond these tangible contributions of time and money, grandparents may offer considerable advice and validation, which is a powerful intangible asset. That may be incredibly important as we struggle with this new but always demanding parental role. "Jack isn’t walking yet, I’m worried." Such comments may be calmed with the simple wisdom of experience. "You did not walk until you were 13 months." "Each child is different." Whether our child is 11 months or 11 years, we count on our own parents for perspective.

We may also count on the presence of grandparents at significant milestones such as graduations from kindergarten or college. There is something powerful in sharing those moments, something about the respect that flows back and forth among generations. There is something special about simply sharing the day-to-day triumphs and tragedies with someone who shares our love for our child.

It is tough then to be a parentless parent. It may affect us more than we sometimes even know or realize. Paul experienced that. His dad died at 47 years old when Paul was a senior in college. As Paul’s daughter was approaching college graduation, Paul began to have anxiety attacks. In counseling, Paul realized that his own father’s premature death haunted him, creating a lifelong but unacknowledged fear that he would never live to see his own children graduate.

Whatever the effect that a parent’s death has on our own parenting, we need to understand and acknowledge it. Think about the ways parenting has changed in both very practical and emotional ways. Understanding those effects is the first step in adapting to the loss.

We can share our memories with those around us. A simple comment, such as “Grandma would have loved this,” may allow our children to acknowledge and share their grief.

We also can fill voids. Is there anyone else in our life who can offer advice and counsel? Is there someone who would welcome the opportunity for involvement? They cannot replace the bond now changed by death, but they may help fill a critical empty space.

It is important to acknowledge that the role of every parent and grandparent is not always so positive or the relationship so helpful. In situations where the relationships were more complicated, our grief may be more complex as well. We may struggle with unresolved questions, continued resentments or unfinished business. While this will be addressed later in this booklet, we may reiterate that in such situations, we may need to seek out a counselor or other forms of support as we cope with this new loss.

Secondary losses

When both parents die, we are likely to experience a series of secondary losses. We may now have to sell the family home, a home that might be full of past memories. Holidays may now seem very different.

While the death of a parent or even both parents can generate estrangement or a new closeness with other members of our family of origin, the death of both parents is likely to lead to a gradual fragmentation of our family of origin. Parents serve as a centering element in families. We come together to celebrate holidays, birthdays and anniversaries. We communicate with our siblings to negotiate our parents’ needs, especially as they age. We collect at their home.

When both parents die, there is a generational shift. It is a natural tendency to shift to the generations of family that we created. Our children and grandchild now center on us: the eldest generation. When my mother, our last parent, died, we recognized the normal centrifugal shift. We did two things to maintain our family’s sense of identity and unity: We decided to have an annual family reunion on a Saturday close to my mom’s birthday, and our children decided to have the occasional cousins’ night out every few months. Such efforts can keep a sense of loss of our larger extended family from being an inevitable casualty of parental death.

Inheritance and legal matters

The death of our second parent is likely the time when wills become probated and estates divided. A number of years ago, I decided to do some research on that issue. We often hear horror stories of inevitable conflicts and painful ruptures of once-close relationships after the death of a parent. Instead, my research indicated that the only real predictor of conflict was not the size of the estate or the absence of a will but rather the prior history of the family. Families that had close relationships and had demonstrated the ability to resolve conflicts divided estates with little difficulty. Those with a history of conflict found one more reason to fight.

Two case anecdotes from the study illustrate this well. In the first, two brothers fought their entire lives. Their mother died, leaving an estate of around $10,000. At issue was $2,000 their mom had given to one of the brothers prior to her death. Was this a gift or a loan to her son? The difference was minuscule. Both brothers were financially stable. If it was a loan, one brother would receive $6,000, the other $4,000. If it was a gift, they each would inherit $5,000. They spent a collective total of $7,000 fighting it in court! Yet each considered it money well spent.

The second case was very different. In this case, the father died last, leaving assets of well over $4 million to be divided among his seven children. He left no will. This was a family with a history of close ties and strong problem-solving. At the request of the eldest child, all seven adult children gathered together in the family home. The eldest had posted newsprint throughout the dining room—noting their dad’s traditional gifts: $25,000 when each child or grandchild married, $50,000 when each child purchased their first home and $10,000 each year for each grandchild’s college expenses. The eldest son’s newsprint indicated who had received these bequests and who was still owed. He then suggested that these gifts be distributed and the remainder divided equally.

As the eldest, he and his children had already received most of these funds. He asked for comments. Consensus was quickly reached, supporting his thoughts with two amendments: A certain amount of money should be set aside for the joint vacation their dad had always proposed, as well as a thousand dollars reserved so they could all enjoy a dinner out that night! The conclusion of my study was simple. Wills and estate planning were far less important than teaching children how to resolve conflicts early on.

Beyond the estate, there was the issue of dividing personal property. Who gets the piano or dad’s car or watch? We again found that well-functioning families developed procedures that caused little conflict. In some cases, siblings took turns choosing or kept a running tally of possible value to retain a sense of equity. In other cases, a trusted family friend or relative was asked to act as a mediator.

In the study, we asked one more question. Did family members feel a sense of guilt in financially benefitting from a parent’s death? Most did not experience such guilt. They looked at any bequest as an expression of parental concern, a legacy and the parent’s final gift.

Complicated relationships—complicated grief

Our relationships with our parents, however positive, certainly become more complicated as they age. Dr. Margaret Blenkner, a leading gerontologist (one who studies aging), coined the term "filial maturity" to describe the emerging relationship between adult children and their aging parents. As parents age, we realize that our parents are not the awesome or awful powerful figures we once imagined them to be. Rather, we see them more as individuals with real needs, and we recognize that we may need to take increased responsibility for their care. Often, this follows some form of crisis that drives that awareness home.

I remember the moment I reached that state of filial maturity. I was a graduate student home for a Christmas vacation. I admired my dad. He always seemed to have it together. He was a newspaper man—circulation manager. Neighbors often asked him for assistance. Using the clout of his relationship with editors and reporters, he could often solve consumer issues or assist in other types of concerns. We lived in a two-family home, with my sister and her family occupying the second floor. When my mom woke, she would go upstairs to assist my sister in getting her three daughters ready for school.

One day, we heard a great thump. When I came to investigate, I found my mother unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. She quickly regained consciousness. My sister and I called for an ambulance, but my dad was beside himself, panicked and anxious. I literally pushed him onto a chair and tried to calm him. The fall, this time, was not serious. We discovered that my mother had low blood sugar and simply had to eat a bit before tackling the stairs. I realized that my dad was not the strong, powerful figure that I always thought him to be. And I knew if anything ever happened to my mom, he would need a great deal of support.

Filial maturity captures the subtle changes that normally occur as parents age. We sometimes use the term role reversal. Yet, that really does not capture the complex reality. Parents never become our children—even as we care for them. Dimensions of power and control still surface. There is complexity and ambiguity even in the best relationships. For parents, it is difficult to be dependent on children, even as parents can take pride and comfort that their child is there for them. As adult children, we too may be ambivalent: proud to be responsible, yet wishing we did not have the added tasks.

So even in the best situations, relationships with aging parents can be fraught with ambivalence that can complicate our grief. However, when relationships are problematic to begin with, ambivalence and grief can be complicated indeed! Tyrone experienced that. His relationship with his dad had been difficult ever since he could remember. As he grieved, Tyrone continually replayed the relationship in his mind, wishing it had been more positive.

Our grief will naturally be more complicated if our relationship with our parent was complicated. If the parent was abusive or absent or if our relationship with that parent was difficult and conflictive, we may really struggle with our grief. It often helps to confront that ambivalence, perhaps in counseling. We may need to explore what we liked about the parent as well as what we did not like, what we miss or do not miss.

Conclusion

While the loss of our parent is often our first entry into grief, most of us find the strength to cope with this initial loss. In fact, as we reflect later on this loss, it may remind us of our strengths and our limitations as we adapt to later losses. And it reminds us of a central truth. Our parents left their mark on us—gave us legacies and perhaps liabilities—not only in their lives but also in their deaths.