My father died June 13 after a long battle with Pulmonary Fibrosis, Colorectal Cancer, and Prostate Cancer. We are nearly four months into life without him, and yet the grief my brother and I have experienced has been an emotional roller coaster of shock, anger, and sadness compounded by the physical tasks of wrapping up his unfinished business and cleaning his house and seven storage rooms.
You read that right. Seven storage rooms.
Mom died ten years ago, and she’d been the glue. Once she was no longer here, his cord came unraveled. He would not allow others – especially his own children – to help him divest himself of his belongings, and he did not know how to handle these things alone – even though he insisted he did and promised time and again that he would.
Oh, how he was stubborn! He bought a car against the advice of the mechanic inspecting it (all because he’d lost the keys to the one he drove). He fired the housekeeper that his doctor strongly urged him to hire and keep after only one visit – reluctantly managing the hiring, but not the keeping.
We struggled to find compassion for Dad when he wouldn’t listen – and frustration lingers as my brother and I have had to bring our own lives to a screeching halt to try to clean up the mess he would not allow us to touch before school started back, which would have allowed a better pace and less racing against the clock to avoid additional monthly storage fees.
I’ll admit: I felt a certain smug satisfaction when a huge limb fell on his new car and knocked the side view mirror off, proving that the repair bills on that make and model would be far more than we knew he wanted to spend after he’d told us sternly that we were just wrong. I delighted in the concierge doctor who did more than suggest that the boxes stacked against the door of the guest room were a fire hazard and that the condition of the home warranted a housekeeper.
We came to places of disbelief, watching him do things no person in their right mind would do. Once we realized he wasn’t in his right mind, we developed what little compassion we could muster.
It was hard to feel compassion for our father, who seemed to be working against us at every turn.
Ephesians 4:32 says be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. How many times has God watched me make mistakes, deliberately and willfully, and then forgiven me with grace and mercy? I needed to extend grace to my earthly father the way my Heavenly Father has so freely offered it to me for 59 years. Even though compassion isn’t listed as one of the nine fruits of the Spirit in Galatians, I’m pretty sure it’s an offshoot fruit, like a secondary or tertiary fruit in the complete rainbow sherbet of spiritual fruits.
Feelings of guilt and regret emerged as we watched our father lying at peace in his Hospice bed, breathing machine as loud and obnoxious as an after-storm generator in a total power loss. I took photos of our hands holding his, so still against the backdrop of the snow white sheets. There was silence without peace, sleep without rest, stillness without calm in all the trademark ways that grief works.
I grappled with my lack of compassion when it mattered – and will carry some of that regret for the rest of my life. I was not as tactful and understanding as I could have been while Dad was still alive. But I take comfort that I held presence in those final weeks, burning sick and bereavement days at work to be with him. I invited his stories of the good old days, recorded them, and took interest in them. I offered words of thankfulness and pride in him, making our peace at the bitter end of a long road.
….still I wonder:
how far down the road
is self-forgiveness
and how does regret
over the absence
of compassion
get resolved?
I’m asking my Spiritual Journey friends for your stories and insights on compassion today. Please share your links to your blogs below. If you do not have a blog, please share your experiences and stories in the comments.
Common Threads 
Kim, first of all: Thank you for your great courage in choosing the theme of compassion and for opening your aching heart. Just last night at church our Bible study group was talking about dilemmas – regret, actually – and that sometimes you just have to do the best you can. And you did. And you are. The layers of loss here are great, as great as the accumulation of your father’s things. It is hard to watch any loved one, most certainly a parent, slide into the realm of the irrational. I have lived this. I have questioned my own response to it, as you have. I am thinking of your suffering in your dad’s decline and now the mammoth task of sorting out all the stuff… the toll of it all, the utter weariness…not giving advice, just simple understanding. Your dad loved you. You loved him. Life is short and full of troubles, to paraphrase one of the Bible’s greatest sufferers. Your pain comes of love. I imagine your dad, if he could, would say, It’s okay, my beloved. You’re forgiven. Rest and I’ll see you again when pain and loss are no more.
I continue to pray for you, friend. Here are my thoughts sparked by your offering of the theme – know how grateful I am for you, always.
https://litbitsandpieces.com/2025/10/02/compassion-a-spiritual-journey/
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Fran, thank you for the gift of comfort and truth in your always healing words, and for the gift of your blog throughout the year. I always look forward to everything that you share, knowing that your words are medicinal. You have a powerful way of turning on a flashlight in the dark and illuminating what we need to see. Who would have thought a small dead earth snake on a sidewalk would have its connections to Hamlet and to the hearts of sufferers to show that the mortal coil will someday be cast off as we enter a perfect realm? You never cease to amaze me with your writing. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the warm hug of words this morning.
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Like Fran, I thank you for courage in choosing this theme. Your walk is very unique to your family situation and yet so familiar to me in so many ways. Daughters and Dads are a bitter-sweet combination many, many days that we are in each other’s presence. I’ve wondered countless times, how on earth do I walk this Dad home–if he does this? or says that? or thinks THAT? Your post reminds me that compassion has different strengths. It has helped me form my own thoughts to jot down today. Today is a day off of school for me for Yom Kippur. I do not celebrate as I’m not Jewish. However, I appreciate that my district recognizes the holiday and gives me some moments to compose a post on and with compassion. Love and prayers, Linda M.
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My link: https://awordedgewiselindamitchell.blogspot.com/2025/10/compassion.html
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Dear Kim: My heart aches for you as you share this story. How difficult those last years can be. I’m so sorry for your loss and your situation. Please know that my prayers are with you.
I have patched together a post today. You can find it here:
https://kceastlund.blogspot.com/2025/10/a-song-of-mending.html
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First, thank you for your brave and raw post this morning that framed my early morning walk as well as my swim. You have me reflecting deeply on the differences between caring for someone who is deeply grateful and someone who may not be able to tell you they are grateful!
https://drferreri.blogspot.com/2025/10/october-2025-compassion.html#more
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Finally ha a minute to read and I’m so glad yours was the first post I came to. I am also dealing with my dad’s death which was in March. We had not spoken in 4 years. I wished him well but didn’t want to put myself in harms way as I had done so many times in the past. Now I there is no way back. My sister and I are cleaning out his house and I am experiencing the all emotions you wrote about. Thank you Kim. I feel less alone.
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I remember your post sharing this, and I’m realizing in all of this grief and these stories that there is so much pain and regret in pockets of life. Someone told me to cling to the good memories, and it definitely takes some sorting. I’m sorry for your loss as well – – we all seem to share such common walks right now of loss and grief. I’m glad we have each other and that we can bring comfort and peace through sharing words.
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Kim, this post is so real and raw. You put your heart out on your sleeve. Living with guilt and regret is so hard. I hope as you process you will gain a deeper knowledge and understanding of love, God’s love. Writing helps the processing so much. Thanks for being vulnerable and sharing with us.
I didn’t know what to write about until I went out for a walk and saw a double rainbow. Then compassion came to me. Thanks for hosting us today.
https://reflectionsontheteche.com/2025/10/02/spiritual-journey-thursday-compassionate-rainbow/
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Kim, it is hard seeing someone we love decline. We reach out to help them, but our help is rejected or ignored. It is easy to sometimes think unkind thoughts about someone as we deal with what they could have dealt with but didn’t. Yet, in our hearts we know that not taking care of things wasn’t because they didn’t want to, but because they couldn’t face it. Please take comfort in knowing that God gives us the strength to go on even when we are discouraged. Bob
Here is the link to my post: Compassion | arjeha
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Brother Bob, I am so grateful for your post and your kind words – – even as you grieve a recent loss of your very own. How comforting it is to know that we can all be strengthened through prayer and meditation, even in our discouragement and grief. Blessings to you!
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Kim, grief has taken over your heart but there will be a time when anger drops and compassion rises. I am so sad for your loss, especially since your family is broken now. The photo of hands is an important piece of the puzzle. We need others to hold your hands, to pray with gusto, and tyou need to talk to friends about your loss. Today, I went to our Creekside Cares flower event. Each month we create little boxed flowers to place in the hospice rooms (the same place that my husband would have had his last words to the family). I thank you for providing us with a spiritual word that will bring peace to a world that is confused.
My blog can be found at https://kimhaynesjohnson.com/2025/10/02/spiritual-journey-thursday/ . I combined my Poetry Friday with the Spiritual Journey prompt because I am behind in my to do lists.
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Carol, the Creekside Cares flower event sounds like a lovely way to carry the comfort forward for the families who are spending those last moments with their loved ones. Your husband would be proud that you are holding space in that sacred realm of those moments you spent with him there. I’m grateful that you shared what brings you peace and also relieved to know that the anger will drop and compassion will rise sometime. Thank you for sharing!
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Carol, I think you may have accidentally linked my blog at the bottom of your post. Thank you for the kind words today.
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Here’s Carol’s link: https://beyondliteracylink.blogspot.com/2025/10/compassion-moves-hearts.html
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Thank you, Fran! I looked for it late last night and could not locate it. I’m so glad you were able to find it and post it here. Blessings for the day!
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Fran, I didn’t realize my mistake until Kim found it. Thank you for your kindness in resetting where my SJT blog is located.
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My Spiritual Journey Blog mistakedly added Kim’s blog post at the bottom of mine (see above). My post is at https://beyondliteracylink.blogspot.com/2025/10/compassion-moves-hearts.html
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Thanks, Kim, for this honest and heartbreaking post. This is a community where we lift each other. Your gift of being present and listening will bring comfort to you in the days ahead.
Grief is a difficult journey. I lost my dad when I was 25 and my mom when I was 36. My friends did not understand my difficult journey through grief. Thank goodness for a bereavement support group that helped me through those days.
I’ve gathered some thoughts on compassion and shared them (even though I’m a day late) here –
https://pleasuresfromthepage.blogspot.com/2025/10/spiritual-journey-thursday-compassion.html
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Oh, Kim… I know too well those frustrations, the tension, the guilt, the regret. If I am learning anything, it is that aging, loss, grief are so very complex. So layered. Who knows how hard it was for your dad to grapple with his own loss…even as we experience our own. Who knows how hard it was for him to see grace in the advice of others…even as we ignore what is offered to us. Maybe we just do the best we can. Maybe that is the key to compassion. I don’t know. I’m still trying to walk that path myself. My post hopefully will be up early next week. I am knee-deep with my mom, trying-trying-trying to get her to accept limitations and pain meds. Ugh! You are in my prayers!
NOTE: this is the link but it’s not live till 10/7.
https://patriciajfranz.com/spiritual-journey-compassion/
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Patricia, your words are reassuring and comforting! I can’t wait to read your post, and what a truth: grief, loss, and aging are so very layered. I directed a wedding Saturday and could hardly walk by the time I got home, my feet hurt so much! That’s where I feel the aging first: knees and feet. Have a blessed day!
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