A Mother's Grief | Christian Devotional

“Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5 NIV).

Dear Christopher,

Sitting down to write to you, my son, next to your girls—Stella, now 18 and soaring toward a pilot’s license, and Lucy, 16, navigating the final stretch of high school—fills my heart with pride and a bittersweet ache. Forgive me if I’m rummaging through my attic of grief again. No matter how many years have passed, losing you remains the most seismic jolt of my life.

Your death at 33 carved my life into BCP (Before Christopher’s Passing) and ACP (After Christopher’s Passing). It was unfair, having you yanked from us with no warning. The beaches we loved, the city streets we wandered, the Maui sunsets—each became rigged with hidden tripwires. Even the grocery aisles turned treacherous; I’d reach for your favorite cereal, only to dissolve in tears again. I was blindsided by your absence.

How your dad and I stayed upright, I’ll never know—it was the grace of God, hidden divine scaffolding maybe, holding us between earth and Heaven.

Your loss reshaped me. Scripture’s sufferers—specifically Naomi and Ruth—aren’t just icons anymore . . . they’re sweet friends. Naomi’s bitterness renamed her Mara? I get that. They say the five basic tastes we can perceive are sweet, sour, salty, bitter, and umami. I like to add one more: grief. It’s a specific taste no words can describe.

It hits less often now, thank God—I’d have crumbled under its full weight forever. Your birthday this year, though, ambushed me. When Jonathan walked into the kitchen that day, he dissolved in my arms with grown-man sobs that were painful to hear. He’s borne your loss, too, but it has forged him into a deep and godly man whose quiet brilliance is showing off.

I still fixate on your whereabouts. Where are you now? Who’s watching over you in that vast unknown? Scripture’s adamant: “No never, no never” will Jesus leave or forsake us (see Hebrews 13:5). But what does that look like? Your bodily remains are under a marker with your name engraved in stone, laid to rest in hope, in a mortuary that overlooks the Pacific. But your soul wanders somewhere in eternity’s uncharted lands.

I can see your brown eyes, hear your laugh, your voice calling “Mom.” But have you entered eternity as a little boy, the man of 33, or some timeless you? And me—will I arrive as this weathered mom or some better eternal version? Heaven’s logistics are infuriatingly vague.

That brutal July 24, 2008, thrust us onto a path of thorns, but here’s the unknowable until you experience it: I’ve gotten to know the Savior walking beside me, yanking my soul from sinking in grief just like he pulled Peter from that stormy lake.

Recently, as we studied 1 John, I found these verses freshly comforting. Chapter 5:11–12 says, “God has given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son” (NIV). The past tense surprised me. It’s not only you who are experiencing eternal life . . . Even as you’re living that now, Christopher, so am I. I’m just in the prequel.

So I am putting in an order now: to hold you again, hear “I love you, Mom,” and see eternity through your eyes. Let’s pencil it in the “someday calendar” if there is any such thing in eternity. For now, I’m tethered to this cosmic layover. But one day, I will “shuffle off this mortal coil” and join you on those eternal shores.

Save me a good view, will you?

Forever with hope rising,

Your loving Mom

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Cathe Laurie is the founder and director of the Virtue women’s ministry. She is also a featured speaker on The Virtue Podcast, at Harvest events, and the author of As I See It. You can find her weekly articles here on harvest.org.