By Victoria Thornberry
“The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” — Deuteronomy 31:8
The Weight of March 2nd
Today, March 2, 2026, marks one year since my Mom passed away. Today feels gentle, peaceful even, because I know she is finally free from the physical and mental pain that tormented her for most of her life. But yesterday… yesterday hit differently.
A year ago yesterday, my Mama called my husband and me because she needed help. She was sick, scared, and alone. And I ignored the call. I even told Chris to ignore it too because we were out celebrating his niece’s birthday.
All day yesterday, I was haunted by the thought that because I didn’t answer, I would never hear her voice again. I feared the last thing she remembered was me not coming to help her.
To some, that may sound harsh. But when you’ve lived decades in crisis, when every call feels like another emergency, another hospital, another spiral your heart becomes tired. It becomes guarded. It becomes human.
And my Mom’s illnesses, bipolar disorder, alcoholism, addiction created a lifetime of chaos that shaped every part of my childhood.
Growing Up in the Storm
There were only a few short seasons when my Mom was sober, on her medication, and stable. Most of my memories are of instability, fear, and survival.
After my parents divorced when I was in 4th grade, life as I knew it shattered. Mom spiraled. Some weeks she stayed locked in her room, deeply depressed. Other weeks she filled the house with drinking, loud laughter, and strangers — many of them homeless men who became abusive.
We moved to Florida in 7th grade with a man we called “Goat Man.” One night, my sister and I woke to him pinning Mom to the wall and burning her with cigarettes. You would think that would have been her wake-up call. It wasn’t.
We moved back to Kentucky. My Granny gave Mom her entire inheritance, and Mom spent it all with another abusive man on booze and cocaine. One night he chased us with a baseball bat, speeding after us at over 90 mph as we fled for safety.
People often ask, “Where was your family? Why didn’t someone step in?”
But this was all my sister and I knew. We protected Mom. We hid the truth. We never told anyone about the filth, the hunger, the fear, the times she forgot us, or the miles we walked alone across Louisville. I was a child raising a child.
Finding My Voice at Seventeen
At 17, working at a daycare near Oxmoor, I finally broke. Mom was in a deep depression. After my shift, I called her for a ride no answer. I waited outside until closing. No cell phones. No money for the bus. No way home.
In desperation, I called my aunt.
When she picked me up, the truth poured out , the blisters from walking miles in bad shoes, my sister disappearing for hours terrified, my 8th grade solo with no family in the audience, walking home alone afterward. I told her everything.
When we arrived at our apartment, she saw it all: dog waste everywhere, no food, moldy dishes, clothes piled high, and Mom asleep in bed.
That day, she took us home with her.
Mom was hospitalized for months. My sister moved in with my aunt. I moved in with my cousin. Life was better , but strange. I had rules. A curfew. Structure. Things I had never known.
Eventually, Mom recovered enough to live with Granny, and I joined them. We moved to the Highlands. Mom was doing well. I met a boy who hung the moon, got pregnant with Patrick, and said yes to marriage , my way out, my way forward.
But I wasn’t running toward healing. I was running from pain.
The God Who Carried Me
I grew up in church only because of my Granny. It was the one place I felt safe. Youth group, summer camp ,those were my resting places. I didn’t know it then, but God was carrying me the whole time.
“Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he… I will sustain you and I will rescue you.” — Isaiah 46:4
A few years ago, I got another call from the hospital. Mom had attempted suicide again and this time she nearly succeeded. I can’t count how many attempts there were. Her first was when she was a teenager.
But this time… this time broke something open in me.
I went to the prayer room at work, fell to my knees, and felt decades of pain rise to the surface. And in that moment, I heard the Lord whisper:
“Daughter, I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
A peace washed over me the kind Scripture describes as “beyond understanding.” That was the beginning of my healing.
God softened my heart. He helped me see my Mom not as her diseases, but as His creation. He helped me forgive. He helped me love her again. He knew I would only have a few more years with her.
The Last Call I Didn’t Answer
The boundaries I set ,boundaries that protected my family and my heart , are the same boundaries that kept me from answering her final call.
Yesterday, the guilt felt heavy. So I shared it with my aunt , the same aunt who rescued us all those years ago. Her words were exactly what my heart needed:
“We all took turns helping or ignoring. We didn’t know what to do. It was a Catch-22. She threw away an inheritance. Should I have given her part of mine? I don’t know.
It’s the life she made, for whatever reason and lessons she needed to learn , or we needed to learn.
Think about where she is now ,pain-free, depression-free. She’s with Granny, Granddaddy, Judi, Kyle. She’s visiting us.
We did what we could with what we had.”
Her words reminded me of this truth:
“As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him. For he knows how we are formed; he remembers that we are dust.” — Psalm 103:13–14
God knows our limits. He knows our humanity. He knows we can’t carry what only He can heal.
What I Know Today
Mental illness and addiction are diseases. They don’t just affect the person — they affect everyone around them.
Am I angry at my Mom? No.
Am I upset that I didn’t speak up sooner? No.
I am grateful — because every experience shaped me into the woman I am today.
A mother.
A grandmother.
A wife.
A sister.
A friend.
A leader.
A daughter of a faithful God.
Through His love, I am healing. Through His strength, I am breaking generational cycles. Through His grace, I am becoming who He created me to be.
Why I’m Sharing This Now
For years, I felt God nudging me to share my story. But it wasn’t time. Last night, while talking to Him, I felt Him whisper:
“It’s time.”
This is the first piece of what may someday become a book. I don’t know how God will use my words, but I know He will.
Because He carried me through every chapter.
Today, I Can Smile
Today, on the one-year anniversary of my Mom’s passing, I can smile because:
- She is proud of me.
- She loved me deeply.
- She is finally free.
- I have a loving husband.
- I have children I am so proud of.
- I have beautiful grandchildren I get to be present for.
- And I have a Heavenly Father who healed what I thought was unhealable.
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3
Grace in the ruins 
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