There is something about the parable of the prodigal son that leaves me deeply dissatisfied. It is not the forgiveness. It is not a father’s embrace as he is reunited with his son. It is what I feel when I think about the other son: the one who stayed, who kept working, who shared everyday life without walking away from his responsibilities.
When I read this story, he is the one who draws my attention most.
The other son’s question
In the story, the younger son returns after squandering his possessions and acknowledges that he has done wrong. Coming back from the fields, the older son discovers the celebration and protests that he has never received such recognition. It is only fair to remember that the father also goes out to meet him and reassures him that they have always been together and that everything he owns is his son’s too. He does not reject him or declare that he loves him less. (Gospel of Luke 15:11–32 — Italian CEI text)
Yet that protest still gives me pause. Knowing that we are loved is not always enough if, in everyday life, we feel taken for granted.
I do not claim that a parable should be reduced to a set of household rules. I understand the joy of being reunited with someone we feared was lost. But when I bring this story into our own relationships, I feel the need to say something clearly: forgiving those who have done wrong must not become neglect of those who have continued to be there.
The quiet value of those who stay
Some people make very little noise. They keep their commitments, care for their children, accompany a parent, face the difficulties of a relationship and contribute to a shared plan. They have desires, moments of exhaustion and opportunities to escape, just like everyone else. Yet they still try to take others into account.
Precisely because they are reliable, we end up treating them as a certainty that requires no attention.
We can put off calling them, skip an affectionate gesture, forget to say thank you. They will understand. They will not mind. They will still be there tomorrow.
But someone’s willingness to be there for us is not a reason to give them less care. It should be a reason to give them more.
The person who shares our life is not there simply to keep everything running smoothly for us. This is someone who places their time, energy and part of their future alongside ours. When we make plans together, their choices support us; our choices, in turn, should support them.
When presence is taken for granted
That is why I worry about a habit we can fall into without noticing: saving our strongest emotions for those who come and go, while leaving those who stay with nothing but the chores.
The relative who rarely visits receives extraordinary attention; the one who takes someone to medical appointments every week is barely noticed. A distant partner is affectionate for one evening, and that gesture seems to erase months of loneliness. Meanwhile, the person who has helped every day feels that their contribution no longer even needs to be mentioned.
I do not believe that every protest in these situations is envy. Sometimes it is the pain of someone who wants to feel appreciated without having to disappear first.
Welcoming someone does not make them a hero
Of course, I do not consider leaving to be wrong in itself. Finding our own path is legitimate, and there are situations we need to leave. I am talking about something else: abandoning commitments we have made, leaving others to carry their weight and then expecting our return to wipe everything away.
I would not wish a closed door on someone who returns in difficulty. I do not want humiliation, revenge or a sentence that never ends. I believe in the possibility of starting again.
But starting again also means acknowledging what has happened. It means asking who has suffered, who has had to do more and what harm can still be repaired. Trust can grow again, but it needs actions, not just the emotion of a reunion.
Being welcomed is not the same as being hailed as a hero. And those who offer a welcome should not expect people who have been hurt to celebrate immediately, as though their pain were an inconvenience to be set aside.
We can be happy that someone has returned and, at the same time, respect the effort made by those who stayed. There is no need to choose which son to love. We need to make sure that one person’s urgent needs do not make the other invisible.
Gratitude is not a prize
Nor would I want to turn faithfulness into a competition for prizes. Love should not depend on a league table of good behaviour. But being loved without having to earn it does not mean that every kind of behaviour is equivalent, or that gratitude is unnecessary.
A thank you is not a wage. A celebration does not have to be a medal. A thoughtful gesture can simply say: I notice what you do, I know you are there for me, I am glad to share my life with you.
What I would like to leave my children
My children, I would like you to have hearts that can forgive, but also eyes that notice those who are beside you every day. Do not wait until you lose someone to recognise their value. Notice those who keep a promise, who face a difficult day alongside you, who share in your plans without asking for applause.
When you build a life with someone, remember that their presence is not a service included in the price of love. Ask how they are, notice when they are tired and make room for their wishes too. A thank you said while looking into each other’s eyes, an afternoon spent together or a responsibility you take on yourself can express gratitude better than a grand speech.
If one day you are the one who needs to retrace your steps, return with sincerity. Do not ask only to be understood: try to understand those who waited for you and those who suffered. A new beginning is more genuine when it brings a desire to do better, not just the relief of having been welcomed back.
To someone who returns, we can say: I am glad you are here; let us see how we can start again.
To someone who stayed, we should already have said, many times: thank you for being here.
A home is fair when those who return can feel welcome, and those who stayed do not have to wonder whether they should have left in order to be seen.
Papy