The Last First Day
I won’t forget that September morning in 2021. A text came in from my youngest son.
I opened it to see him standing in front of his college apartment, holding a sign:
Last First Day of School.
My last child.
His last first day.
And there it was—that feeling.
That tightening in my chest.
That quiet ache that shows up before you even have words for it.
Not because something bad happened. But because something ended.
When You Feel a Season Close
It’s strange how quickly the mind fills in the space.
First steps.
Kindergarten.
First bike ride without training wheels.
Car keys… and off they go.
College move-in.
All of it—there in a moment.
And just like that…
I could feel it:
This part of my life had ended, just like I’d been told it would.
When Knowing Doesn’t Make It Easier
Lately, that feeling has been taking me somewhere unexpected.
Back to a scene in The Chosen.
Jesus returns home to tell His mother that His time has come.
And Mary understands.
Of course she does.
She, too, had been told this day would come.
But knowing… doesn’t make the moment easier.
You can see it in her face—
The weight of what lies ahead.
The awareness that everything is about to change.
And what does she do?
She tells Him to sit down and eat.
One more dinner.
One more ordinary moment.
One more night under her roof.
If I’m honest…
I would do the exact same thing.
Because when you know something is ending,
You don’t rush it.
You hold it.
You stretch it.
You try—somehow—to stay in it just a little longer.
The Tenderness of Remembering
After dinner, Jesus walks into His childhood room.
He pauses.
He looks around.
Touches the familiar things.
He picks up a box his earthly father made.
And you can feel what’s happening inside of Him—
The remembering.
The safety.
The life that once was.
There’s a tenderness in that moment.
And something else too…
Grief.
I didn’t expect to see that there.
But I recognized it immediately.
Because I know that feeling.
Maybe you do too.
A Christmas Song at Mother’s Day
What’s surprised me most… is what’s been playing in my mind alongside all of this.
The song Mary, Did You Know?.
A Christmas song!
Mary, did you know
That your baby boy will one day walk on water?
Mary, did you know
That your baby boy will save our sons and daughters?
Did you know
That your baby boy has come to make you new?
This child that you’ve delivered
Will soon deliver you
But I’m not hearing it at Christmas.
I’m hearing it now.
As we move toward Bereaved Mother’s Day.
Because the question isn’t really did she know?
Of course she knew.
She knew there was a calling.
She knew there was purpose.
She knew her son was set apart.
But here’s what I can’t stop thinking about:
Knowing didn’t slow time down.
Knowing didn’t soften the moments as they came.
And knowing didn’t keep her
from becoming…
a bereaved mother.
What We Get Wrong About Grief
I think we quietly believe something different.
That if we’re prepared enough…
if we understand enough…
if we’ve been told what’s coming…
Maybe it won’t hurt as much when it gets here.
But that’s not how love works.
And it’s not how loss works.
What Jesus Made Sure Of
Which is why what Jesus does next matters so much.
Even in His final moments, hanging on the cross,
He looks down and sees His mother.
And He does something deeply intentional.
In the Gospel of John 19:26–27, He says:
“Woman, behold your son.”
And to John:
“Behold your mother.”
And from that moment on, John takes her into his home.
In the middle of unimaginable suffering… Jesus makes sure His mother is not alone.
That detail is easy to pass over.
But it shouldn’t be.
Because it tells us something essential:
Grief was never meant to be carried in isolation.
Not for Mary.
Not for you.
For the Mother Who Is Carrying This
If you are a bereaved mother…
I want you to hear this clearly:
Your motherhood did not end.
Your love did not end.
And your grief… it matters.
Not because anyone else understands it.
But because you felt it.
And you still do.
For Those Who Love Her
If you know a mother who has lost a child…
This is your invitation.
Not to fix anything.
Not to explain anything.
Not to make sense of something that was never meant to make sense.
Just come near.
Sit with her.
Say their name.
Remember with her.
Be the kind of presence
Jesus made sure His mother had.
A Place to Sit With This
If this stirred something in your heart…
Maybe someone came to mind.
A mother who is carrying more than she says out loud.
A friend quietly walking through loss.
Someone who may need to feel a little less alone this Mother’s Day.
Would you consider sending this to her?
Not because it will fix anything.
But because it might let her know she is seen.
And if this is your story…
If you are carrying the loss of a child, a loved one,
or even the loss of a life you once knew…
I want you to know there is a place for you.
A quiet place.
A gentle place.
A place where you don’t have to explain your grief
or have the right words.
Just women… sitting together,
holding space for what is real.
If you feel ready, I would love for you to join us.
0 Comments