A Sacred Goodbye
Honoring My Mom After Three Years of Caregiving
Saying goodbye to my mom at her funeral this coming weekend will not be an act of farewell—it will be the closing of a sacred chapter that has been quietly unfolding over the past three years. During that time, I had the privilege, the challenge, and the calling to care for her during her final season of life. The caregiving journey wasn’t easy, but it was holy. It held within it moments of frustration, grace, exhaustion, and deep healing.
Our relationship had always been complicated. There were words left unsaid over the years and wounds that hadn’t yet scabbed over. But as the days of caregiving turned into months, and those months into years, something began to shift. Through the small daily and weekly acts, God was softening the sharp edges between us. Bit by bit, wall by wall, healing crept in.
The funeral will be a beautiful reflection of that healing. It's not about perfection or pretending we had it all figured out. It will be a celebration of love—the kind that grows in silence, shows up in service, and ultimately forgives.
As I think about the family and friends who will gather, I feel a quiet peace. I know we have come full circle. The final years have redeemed the messy ones, and I no longer carry a heart heavy with regret.
In these past three years, I’ve come to understand the power of presence. My mom may not have always remembered what day it was or why I was there, but she knew love when it showed up. And I showed up, day after day. Sometimes out of love, sometimes out of duty, and sometimes because I had nothing left but a whisper of faith. But God met me in every moment.
Caring for her was not only an act of obedience—it was a gift. It taught me grace. It taught me patience. And most of all, it taught me how to release my expectations and love her as she was, not as I wished her to be. When she passed, I didn’t just lose a mother—I gained a softer heart and a deeper understanding of mercy.
As I stand at her grave on Friday, I will whisper a quiet thank you—to her, for letting me walk her home, and to God, for giving us those last years to reconcile and rest in each other’s presence.
Grief may visit, but it does not rule. There is peace in knowing I loved her well and let her go in love.
