That is When I Realised That my Son is my Lord.

Light drew to a close and darkness descended.
It was over.
Wailing heard for miles, mothers wept as Rachel did for her child, refusing to be comforted.
It was finished.
The sound of whips lashing his back, nails piercing his skin, the creak of the wooden cross as it was lifted. Held into place, he hung, lifeless.
It was finished.
Outcries of pain ceased.
It has all been paid for.
Leers of ‘Crucify him! Crucify him!’ flowing venomously from the mouths of the monsters paused, echoing across the silent land.

Peace.
It was finished.
We watched. We waited. 

 He gasped his last:
‘Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do’
It is finished. 

The injustice that haunted my soul, the loss that made my heart blacken and mourn.
A mother's worst nightmare.
Watching the death of my beautiful, perfect son. 

A gift to the world. Serving the world in love, and now this, a face that only a mother could love.
Silence.
I tried to push my way through the crowds.
They held me back.
I watched as they mocked him, ridiculed him; ‘If you really are the son of God, save yourself!’
I lifted my head to the blackening sky and lamented ‘My God, how is THIS a part of your plan? How can this be?
Each nail piercing his skin tore into mine. I wept as my heart leaped into my throat and sunk further into my stomach. 

‘Yet not thy will, but Yours be done’ He had said.
My son, my precious son, who I bore, merely a child myself. Who I held in reverence on the day he was born. He was exactly as the angel had described. Holy, pure, blameless. Blamed, mocked, killed.
It is finished.

The Father's will.
He did it for me.

That is when I realised that my son is my Lord.