She knelt alone near the back of the church. I could barely see her as she blended with the shadows. She was frail and elderly. Her head bent, her hands folded, she appeared motionless as if she were a figurine. In the stillness, though, her soft sobs could be heard as quiet whispers of sorrow from a broken heart.
I wondered who she grieved for; what heartache has brought her to this moment in time. In this midnight hour, I began to feel her pain; her emptiness. Tears welled within and a sense of loss came over me. It was at that moment that I knew who she wept for…she wept for me, her son.