From Grave to Grace

 It’s been three years since I last went home…

Three years since I visited my father’s grave.

Time moves so quickly, yet some wounds stay tender.
I sometimes wonder if there’s still a home to return to—because so much has changed.
But I’m learning that home is not always a place.
Sometimes, it’s the love we carry, the memories etched in our hearts, and the strength we find in ourselves when everything else feels uncertain.

This Holy Week, I’ve been reflecting deeply.
Not just on the grief of loss, but on the silent burdens I’ve carried for years.
The hurt of being blamed for things I didn’t cause.
The pain of being misunderstood by people who never asked for forgiveness, never acknowledged their part, but somehow made me the villain in their story.

And it hurts even more when it’s family.
Because you expect love, understanding, and accountability.
But instead, you’re met with silence, blame, and denial.

Still, I’m choosing healing.
Not for them, but for me.
I’m praying for peace in my heart, for clarity in the chaos, and for the courage to let go of what no longer serves my growth.
Because healing isn’t just about moving on…
It’s about making peace with the past, even when apologies never come.
It’s about forgiving, even if they never understand.
And it’s about freeing myself to live with a heart that’s lighter, softer, and whole.

And so, I move forward, not with bitterness, not with blame,
But with grace.
Grace for myself, for the past I cannot change,
And for the future I’m still learning to embrace.

Because from grave to grace,
I am choosing to live.
Lighter. Softer. Whole.