When Jesus saw his mother standing there beside the disciple he loved, he said to her, “Dear woman, here is your son.” And he said to this disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from then on this disciple took her into his home. —John 19: 26 & 27, NIV
This was the boy she nurtured to being: He was always so happy and wise, showing fairness and mercy to the weak and downtrodden while scolding the evil in other grown-ups who burdened them with more than they could handle. He always helped His father (even though they were never His for the fact being, both mutually agreed He would be His Son in Earth) with his carpenting work, always saying a word of comfort or two to anyone who was willing to hear it. He grew up to become a revolutionary and a gentleman.
Now, she would be alone. And she couldn't stand being alone. At the cross of His Son, the only thing that bore His name, surrounded by legions and legions of hissing fans, she was all alone. The One who could take care of her till death left her all alone. What will happen of her? Would it be selfish to think that way? Or was she really grieving?
But an anxious cry came from His throat as He lingered on the cross: "Woman", he quickly scratched to His earthly mother —"woman", never "mother"— "here is your son." The first person held her arms in a comforting gaze, and she felt the chest of the disciple He loved.
"Here is your mother", He tenderly said with whatever strength He could muster.
They hugged. They cried together. They hugged some more. Who needed the hug more: the new mother, or the new son? She now had someone to take care of. She now had someone that would take care of her.
Before the day ended, the mother began moving into her new home.