Did Mary mourn Jesus as a savior or a son? When she looked up and watched blood stain rough wood and thorns, who did she see? Did she see the man who walked on the sea, who turned water to wine, the gate to the Heavenly Father? Or did she see a little boy who played in the dirt with his brothers. The infant whose tiny fingers curled ‘round her thumb, searching for before he could even see her?

Her son. Her first child, her blessing from the Lord. Did God tell her how soon she would have to return him?