The Immigrant Grief We Rarely Talk About

Between Two Homes, Returning to Work After Grief

By James

Today is my first day back at work after almost two months away following the death of my Tatay(father).

I still do not know if anyone ever truly reflects enough, grieves enough, or rests enough after losing someone they love. What I do know is that I am trying to restart and realign myself, even if parts of me still feel unsettled.

For weeks, I questioned whether I was ready to come back. Not because I could not function, but because grief changes you quietly. It does not always look dramatic. Sometimes it simply changes the way silence feels. The way conversations sound. The way you carry yourself through ordinary days.

Two things have stayed with me deeply during this season.

The first is the reality of distance.

Since moving to the UK in 2019, I only managed to fly home to the Philippines once partly because of COVID, but also because life simply happened. Work happened. Responsibilities happened. Building a future happened.

And then suddenly, time runs out.

One of the hardest parts of losing a parent while living abroad is the uncertainty that follows. You replay moments in your head. You wonder whether you should have visited more, called more, or made different choices while there was still time.

There is a particular kind of guilt that immigrants quietly carry. The understanding that the opportunities we pursue abroad often come with invisible sacrifices attached to them.

Sometimes we are no longer fully there, back home in the Philippines, yet we never fully feel rooted here either.

We live between two homes.

The second thing I struggled with was allowing myself to stop.

Growing up, I was taught that strength meant carrying on no matter what. You stay strong for the family. You keep going. You work. You endure.

Even while I was off work, my Mum said during one of our calls, “You look fine. You should go back now.”

And maybe physically, I did look fine.

But emotionally, something felt different in a way I still cannot fully explain or even name.

I found myself burying the silence through writing, creating, and staying busy, perhaps trying to fill a void I did not fully understand yet. I think I am mentally stable, but emotionally bruised.

There is exhaustion that sleep does not fix.

There is grief mixed with guilt, distance, responsibility, and identity.

There is also the financial reality many immigrants understand. Building a life abroad buying a home, establishing stability, pursuing career growth can slowly make the idea of “going home anytime” feel less simple than people imagine. Sometimes home becomes a place you love deeply but can no longer easily reach.

That realization hurts in ways I never expected.

Returning to work today is not about “moving on.”

It is about learning how to move forward while carrying grief differently.

And perhaps that is what healing really is.

Not forgetting.

Not fixing everything.

Not suddenly becoming okay again.

But slowly learning how to live alongside the parts of ourselves that loss has changed.

This season has also challenged my understanding of strength.

For a long time, I believed strength meant enduring quietly and continuing no matter what. But now I wonder if real strength is allowing yourself to pause. Allowing yourself to grieve. Allowing yourself to admit that something inside you has shifted.

Perhaps leadership is not just about guiding others through difficult moments, but also allowing ourselves to remain human when life changes us.

I am learning that healing does not always look like recovery.

Sometimes it simply looks like showing up again.

And to anyone navigating grief while trying to function normally again especially those carrying it far away from home, I see you.