Honoring My Parents After They’re Gone

A simple flame. A lasting prayer. I still honor them, even now.

It happened during an examination of conscience, just before confession. I was walking through the Ten Commandments in prayer, asking God to show me where I had fallen short. When I reached the Fourth Commandment, “Honor your father and your mother,” I paused. My parents had already passed. I couldn’t help but wonder… how do I still honor them? I prayed for them sometimes, sure, and I even asked them for help now and then. But was that honoring them? I didn’t know. I felt like I had nothing to confess… and yet, I felt like I had everything to confess.

I’d always thought of that commandment in a childlike way. Obey your parents. Don’t sass. Don’t lie. But as I’ve grown in faith, that understanding has deepened. I began to feel like I was falling short simply because I didn’t know what to do for them anymore. I visited their graves when I went home. But was that enough?

That’s when God did what He always does. He showed up in a whisper, or actually, in a video.

One night, scrolling through YouTube, I stumbled upon a video by Father Larry Richards, who was talking about confession. In the video, he spoke directly to what I was wrestling with. In part of the video, he said you can honor your parents after they’ve passed by having Masses said for them. That truth hit me like a divine wake-up call. It was so simple, and so powerful. It changed my thinking of everything.

So I started doing it. Every year, on their birthdays, on their wedding anniversary, and on the day they died, I offer Mass intentions for them. I also do the same for my wife’s parents. I usually use our parish, scheduling the dates online and making the small offering, which is typically ten dollars. Sometimes I’ll send a check and a note to a parish back in my hometown or even to my wife’s hometown parish. It’s not complicated.

I always try to attend that Mass. When I hear the priest say their names during the Prayers of the Faithful, it brings a tear to my eye. The whole congregation prays, “Lord, hear our prayer,” and I know that prayer is for them. It’s not just a remembrance. It’s communion. It’s love that refuses to fade.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that we should pray for the dead because our prayers can help them, especially if they are in purgatory. Purgatory is not punishment, but purification, a mercy for those who die in God’s grace yet still need healing. Mass intentions are one of the greatest prayers we can offer for a soul. The Eucharist is the highest form of prayer, and when we unite someone to it, we trust that God, in His mercy, brings them closer to Heaven.

But even if they’re already there, those prayers are not wasted. They flow to someone else who needs them. God is never outdone in generosity. That’s the beauty of the Communion of Saints. We’re all connected, across time and space and life and death. And the Fourth Commandment does not expire with the passing of our parents. It lives on through love.

Sharing this practice with others has been one of the quietest joys of my life. Back when I was involved in a men’s group, I mentioned how I used to struggle with the Fourth Commandment and didn’t know how to honor my parents after they died. I shared what I learned from Father Larry, and several older men in the group told me they had never heard of offering Masses for their parents to show honor toward them. Since then, some of them have taken up the practice too. That’s the Church in motion. A ripple of love moving outward.

I’ve also added intentions for the living. I began offering a Mass for my son on his birthday. I want him to know what it means to be prayed for in the most powerful way. I pray for souls in purgatory too, especially during my daily Rosary. They’re not strangers to me. They are part of this great family of faith.

On Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, things have shifted. I used to feel sad, especially since my father died the Friday before Father’s Day. That year was rough. But now, those days are filled with intention. That small act transforms the day. It turns pain into prayer. And having my own son now, being a father myself, has helped me see these holidays differently. When he asked what I wanted for Father’s Day this year, I told him I wanted his prayers. He was a little disappointed. But one day, I hope he’ll understand.

We live in a world that celebrates with cards and flowers and dinners. Those things are fine. But faith brings something more. Something lasting.

If you’re reading this and wondering how you can still honor your parents, even after they’re gone, start with prayer. Then call your parish office, check their website, or check in the bulletin on how to offer a Mass. Choose their birthday, their anniversary, or just any day that matters to you. Let that be your way of saying, “I haven’t forgotten. I still honor you.”

Because love doesn’t end at the grave.

And the Fourth Commandment? It was never just about childhood obedience. It’s a lifelong invitation. A call to honor those who gave us life, and to trust that they still walk with us, pray for us, and are waiting for us in God’s eternal embrace.

What about you? Whose name could you lift up in prayer today? What date on the calendar could become a holy reminder of the love that endures?

Start there. Say their name. Offer a Mass. Honor them in faith.