Every Step is an Act of Surrender

“This is my last day on Earth with this family, Mama,” kiddo says from the back seat. My heart clenches. He calmly explains that soon he will be going to heaven.

I sit in stunned silence for a moment, gathering myself. Then, as gently as I can, I reply: “Well, I’d love it if you’d stick around for a long, long time. I’d miss you if you went to heaven.”

More silence. And then, “Did I make you sad, Mommy?”

“Yes,” I say. “But that’s okay. You’re allowed to make Mommy sad sometimes. It’s alright.”

We’re on our way to my massage appointment, my husband driving. The conversation between us drifts to whether I should even go, but he encourages me. “Everything is okay,” he assures me. “You should go. It’ll be good for you. I’ve got this.”

And yet, everything inside me screams No. Every part of me wants to turn the car around, lock the doors, hold kiddo close, and never let him go. My instincts cry out to circle the wagons, to protect my child from the storm I imagine looming.

But something deep inside stops me. There’s a lesson here.

When we arrive, I kiss kiddo and my husband goodbye. In that moment, every part of me is fully alive, fully present. I study kiddo’s face—the pure joy, the way his eyes crinkle with laughter, the playful pucker of his lips as he leans in for a kiss. I memorize it, thinking: If this is the last time, I want to remember every detail, every bit of this joy.

Time slows as I open the car door. I walk away, each step an act of surrender.

Sitting in the lobby, my heart aches with uncertainty. Am I doing the right thing? Should I stay with him? What if this really is his last day? Could I live with myself if I wasn’t there? And yet, here I am, about to get a massage. What kind of mother does this?

But then, something rises from deep within me. A quiet voice, steady and sure: Be present. Surrender to this moment. Let go of the outcome. Be grateful for every second you’ve had. Don’t fear loss. You’ve lost before, and you’re still here. Let go. Let go. Let go.

I then recall a recent conversation with my husband. He’d said, “I can’t bear the thought of losing you. That’s why I linger when we say goodbye. We never know when the last moment will be, and I want to make sure it’s a good one. That we had one more kiss, one more smile.”

In the quiet of the massage room, I send a single worded prayer into the universe:

Grace.

Grace is the prayer you can’t get wrong. It’s the prayer for when life is confusing, overwhelming. It’s asking for the highest blessing, an outcome beyond what you could ever imagine.

Carolyn Myss once said, “Having to say, ‘If this is what I must accept, so be it,’ can feel like chewing glass. But not being able to accept what you cannot change is like swallowing shards of glass.”

I chewed the glass. Tears flowed as I surrendered to the present moment. Come what may, I prayed. I am so, so grateful for every moment I’ve had with kiddo.

Now, years later, that moment still lives in my heart. Kiddo is healthy and vibrant. That day became one of my greatest teachers. I continue to carry the lesson of presence, surrender, and gratitude with me.

We never truly know when our last day will be, but what I do know is this: living in each moment, memorizing the faces of those you love, and cherishing every laugh and hug is the greatest gift we can give ourselves—and them. So I keep holding on to that lesson, feeling grateful for every single moment.