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In darkness we doubt that there will ever be light, but in the light we soon forget how much darkness there was.

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The more our spiritual sensitivities come to the surface of our daily lives, the more we will discover — uncover—a new presence in our lives. I have a strong sense that mother’s death has been, and still is, a painful but very blessed purification that will enable us to hear a voice and see a face we had not seen or heard as clearly before.

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The solid, simple cross that stands above her grave speaks of something more than her death. Every time we go to that place, we sense that we are waiting, expecting, hoping. We wish to see her again and be with her once more, but we know that she has left us not to come back. At times, we wish to die and join her in death, but we know that we are called to live and to work on this earth. Our quiet, joyful waiting is much deeper than wishful thinking. It is waiting with the knowledge that love is stronger than death and that this truth will become visible to us.

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There are many, many questions, and we would like answers to them now. But it is too early. Nobody knows what to say. We saw that death is real. We saw that death took away from us the one we loved most. We stand by the grave. Let us not ask questions now. This is the time to let that inner quietude grow in us. The disciples thought that it was all over, finished, come to an end . . . if they thought much at all. The women wanted to take care of the grave. They prepared spices and ointments. But on Saturday, they all rested.

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It is that death does not belong to God. God did not create death. God does not want death. God does not desire death for us. In God there is no death. God is a God of life. He is the God of the living and not of the dead. Therefore, people who live a deeply spiritual life, a life of real intimacy with God, must feel the pain of death in a particularly acute way.

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If the God who revealed life to us, and whose only desire is to bring us to life, loved us so much that he wanted to experience with us the total absurdity of death, then—yes, then there must be hope; then there must be something more than death; then there must be a promise that is not fulfilled in our short existence in this world; then leaving behind the ones you love, the flowers and the trees, the mountains and the oceans, the beauty of art and music, and all the exuberant gifts of life cannot be just the destruction and cruel end of all things; then indeed we have to wait for the third day.

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Every event of life can lead us to a deeper knowledge of the Eucharist. Marriage enables us to understand more deeply God’s faithful love as it expresses itself in his lasting presence among us; illness and inner struggle can bring us more closely in touch with the healing power of the Eucharist; sin and personal failure can lead us to experience the Eucharist as a sacrament of forgiveness.

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Mother’s death, then, directs our attention to the death of Christ and invites us to find in him the source of all our consolation and comfort.

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It is because of the liberating death of Christ that I dare say to you that mother’s death is not simply an absurd end to a beautiful, altruistic life. Rather, her death is an event that allows her altruism to yield a rich harvest.

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What strikes me most in all that is read and said during these days is that Jesus of Nazareth did not die for himself, but for us, and that in following him we too are called to make our death a death for others.

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This constitutes the great challenge: to be so free that we can be obedient, to be so autonomous that we can be dependent, to be so in control that we can surrender ourselves.

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“Be sure not to become dependent on the power, influence, or money of others. Your freedom to make your own decisions is your greatest possession. Do not ever give that up.”

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It seemed as if we could put our whole lives in the palms of our hands like small precious stones and gaze at them with tenderness and admiration. How tiny, how beautiful, how valuable!

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In every arrival there is a leavetaking; in every reunion there is a separation; in each one’s growing up there is a growing old; in every smile there is a tear; and in every success there is a loss. All living is dying and all celebration is mortification too.

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Love will always reach out toward the eternal. Love comes from that place within us where death cannot enter. Love does not accept the limits of hours, days, weeks, months, years, or centuries. Love is not willing to be imprisoned by time.

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He made it convincingly clear that in order to become full human beings, we have to claim the totality of our experience; we come to maturity by integrating not only the light but also the dark side of our story into our selfhood. That made a lot of sense to me, since I am quite familiar with my own inclination, and that of others, to avoid, deny, or suppress the painful side of life, a tendency that always leads to physical, mental, or spiritual disaster.

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No, you are becoming more yourself, you are exploring those areas of life that were always part of you but remained somewhat dormant in mother’s presence.

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There is no doubt in my mind that this harvest is becoming visible first of all in those who loved her most. Our deep love for her allows us to be the first to reap the harvest and to share with others the gifts of her death.