Speaking for Ourselves. Katerina Katsarka Whitley

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      “And a sword shall pierce your own soul also,” old Simeon had said, and I remembered. But I had not ever suspected it would be with this much pain.

       (She pauses. Listens to Luke’s question and seems startled.)

      What, what is that you ask? Ah Luke, you ask such hard questions. Did I feel it was my son dying on that cross? I’ve told you this before. What hurt most bitterly during his lifetime was this—the knowledge that he wasn’t my own. “You opened me up,” my heart cried to the Lord. “You used me like a vessel, you emptied me, and then you threw me away and let him go his way, and he belonged to everyone but me.”

      It isn’t an easy truth for a mother to bear. You want to know what helped? You will laugh, because it is so simple. It wasn’t prayer, and it wasn’t even the joy of his resurrection; it was John, my sweet, borrowed son. I left this for last because it is such a treasured moment.

      As I told you, next to his pain the worst knowledge was that there was no hope. I begged for a quick death for him and for me. And then I heard his voice. “Woman,” he said in that expression that always made me feel that I was all women and he honored them in me. “Woman, this is now your son,” and he looked at John. “Ah,” I cried, “you thought of me in the midst of your pain. I am not forsaken.” And some of the burden lifted. “And this is now your mother,” he told John, and that loving soul never forgot it. You see? (She looks at Luke and waits.)