Restoration May Tary But It's Never Late
“Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close.” Psalm 27:10, NLT
Age twelve and the oldest of four, I gathered my siblings into a huddle to shield them. Our parents were pointing shotguns at each other in our living room. I thank God they didn’t pull the triggers.
Half a century later, both parents, long divorced, show end-of-life symptoms. Tears fall or laughter bursts without warning; the emotions are tumultuous.
We bury memories, regrets, and trauma. Each of us have suppressed our parents’ behaviors and demons for over sixty years. Burdens no child should carry. With their deaths, will peace come, or grief and relief collide? The scars are deep.
There is love and honor, as God commands. But what of the emotions in between—anger, sorrow, disappointment, resentment, fear, and insecurity of never having been protected?
That twelve-year-old inner child still tries to shield everyone. Today I hold hospital paperwork and read texts instead of facing rifles, but the same helplessness lingers. Have I made the right decisions?
My siblings and I converse about DNR choice, burial and cremation. Is this the final deathbed goodbye? These practical talks carry the weight of a lifetime. We pray for wisdom.
My siblings and I process differently—one leans toward compassion, another stays distant; one handles medical decisions, another legal. Together we’ve woven a tapestry of perspectives, frayed at the edges, wrestling with death and decades of tangled emotions.
I’ve grappled with honor. When parents inflicted harm, does it mean pretending pain isn’t real or offering unearned affection? No.
Maybe it means choosing dignity: showing respect for life, humanity, and acknowledging brokenness. I’ve chosen not to repay evil with harm or curse them. I will treat them as image-bearers of God, even if brokenness obscures that truth.
Thinking toward funerals, I’m remembering a few good memories, by God’s grace. Once our parents left us in the woods at our turquoise GMC pickup. We found a pond and scrambled after huge hopping toads. We tossed frogs into the bed of the truck, so many, they covered the floor of the truck.
Those glimpses of grace don’t erase the turmoil but are shafts of light cutting through the long nights of smashing coffee cups, screaming, and grunting. They remind me God’s hand has been steady even when everything else shook. It’s as if God Himself seemed to whisper, “You are mine. I see you. I will never leave you.
”And He never has.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean what happened was okay. It means refusing bitterness, handing over the justice I long for to the One who judges rightly. I no longer carry the weight of fixing the unfixable.
Letting go means recognizing a true Father who never failed me or abandoned me to instability. When our parents pass, their brokenness won’t have the final word. Our story is restored with the grace God gives us to extend to our own children and grandchildren. We have a legacy of faith to pass forward instead of repeating the past.
That’s our redemption. God’s writing a new story out of old pain, lifting the burden of a frightened twelve-year-old and giving me peace to share with my siblings. What was stolen in childhood is restored today and into eternity.
We cannot choose the families we’re born into, but we can choose the legacy we leave. Honoring our parents doesn’t erase harm but reflects God’s mercy and forgiving frees us from bitterness.
Most of all, trusting God as our true Father heals what no earthly parent could. I find peace in the arms of the Lord who never lets loose. In that truth, I breathe freely.
(My mom died September 17, 2025, just weeks after writing this. Pictured above: my sister, mom, daughter, and granddaughter)
Prayer:
Lord Jesus,
I praise you for knowing the hearts of each of us: what makes us the way we are and not leaving us like this. I don’t want to live my elder years bitter and resentful. I surrender my pain to you. Please heal me fully. My mom is with you now, free of earth’s sorrows. Thank you, Lord, for helping to trade the bitter for sweet as I said goodbye and I love you, and I meant it.
Amen
Your Turn:
Have we received justice for attacks we’ve experienced? Is there enough trust in our Creator to release those burdens and let the injustice go? Is there forgiveness? Individually, can we move forward into Christ’s promised freedom? Will we choose the restoration only Christ offers?
“If you’re walking through grief or deep loss, I send gentle, faith-filled encouragement to help you face tomorrow—one honest truth at a time.”
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