February Still Finds Me: A Daughter’s Grief 14 Years Later

14 Years After Losing My Dad

February always finds me.

No matter how much life moves forward…

no matter how busy I am…

no matter how much I try to stay present…

February shows up and reminds my body of something my mind never forgot.

This is the month my dad took his last breath.

It has been 14 years since my father, Frank, passed away, yet grief still visits me in ways people cannot see.

People often say,

“Life goes on.”

And it does.

I go to work.

I run my business.

I love my family.

I laugh.

I show up for people.

From the outside, everything may look normal.

But grief doesn’t always live on the outside.

Sometimes it lives quietly in the body.

Every February, my body remembers before I even say it out loud.

My heart begins to race.

My eye twitches.

My jaw tightens.

My nerves feel like they’re humming under my skin.

It feels like my body is holding something my words still struggle to carry.

The memory of losing him.

And yes… after 14 years, I still mourn my dad.

Not just this month.

Every day since the day he left this earth.

Some people might think that after this much time, grief should disappear.

That eventually you “get over it.”

But the truth is…

You don’t get over losing someone who was a part of your foundation.

You learn to live while carrying them.

Love like that doesn’t expire.

It changes form.

Sometimes it shows up in quiet moments.

Sometimes in memories.

Sometimes in a scent that reminds you of home.

And sometimes it shows up in your body when February arrives.

There are moments when I wonder if people think I should be “past this.”

But grief doesn’t follow a calendar.

It follows the heart.

And my heart still remembers my dad.

The sound of his voice.

The way his presence filled a room.

The way a father’s love anchors you in the world.

When that anchor is suddenly gone, something inside you shifts forever.

There was a period in my life where loss surrounded me from every direction.

Within a short time I lost my dad, people close to me, and pieces of the life I once knew.

Grief changed me.

There were moments when I felt like I had lost myself too.

But somewhere inside that pain, something else started to grow.

Healing.

Not the kind where the grief disappears.

But the kind where you slowly learn how to breathe again.

How to remember without completely breaking.

How to carry love forward.

That journey is actually what led me to create Scented Serenity Candles.

What many people see as candles…

are really memories, emotions, and healing poured into wax.

Scent has a way of unlocking things inside of us.

Comfort.

Peace.

Memories of people we love.

Sometimes when words fail, a scent can hold the moment.

My dad’s memory lives in the stories behind my fragrances.

In the quiet moments when someone lights a candle and feels calm.

In the reminder that even in grief, there can still be warmth, light, and healing.

So yes…

Fourteen years later, I still mourn my dad.

And I’m okay with that.

Because grief is not a sign that something is wrong with me.

It’s a sign that love is still alive.

If you are someone who still carries loss years later, please hear this:

You are not broken.

You are not weak.

You are human.

Some people leave footprints on our hearts that time will never erase.

And maybe healing isn’t about forgetting.

Maybe it’s about learning how to honor the love that never left.

For me, February will always hold both things at once.

Loss.

And love.

— Charlene Hall