What Ecclesiastes Taught Me the Week My Mom Passed
What Ecclesiastes Taught Me the Week My Mom Passed
What Ecclesiastes Taught Me the Week My Mom Passed
Reflections on grief, eternity, and the hope of the gospel
My mom passed away on Wednesday, February 18th.
Any time a parent leaves this world, it brings a unique kind of stillness to the heart. Even when relationships were complicated — as ours often were — death has a way of quieting the noise and bringing life’s deepest questions into focus.
In the days surrounding her passing, I found myself drawn again and again to the book of Ecclesiastes — Scripture’s honest exploration of meaning, purpose, and what truly lasts. Solomon, who experienced wealth, achievement, influence, and every form of earthly success, ultimately concluded that life apart from God is empty.
Standing in what Ecclesiastes calls “the house of mourning,” that conclusion feels unmistakably real.
When Loss Brings Clarity
Scripture says:
“Better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting,
for that is the end of all men;
and the living will take it to heart.”
— Ecclesiastes 7:2 (NKJV)
Mourning has a way of forcing the heart to consider what we usually avoid. Death reminds us that life is brief. It strips away illusions of control and permanence. The things we spend years pursuing — success, possessions, recognition — suddenly feel fragile.
Ecclesiastes says we enter this world with nothing and leave the same way. Watching both of my parents now gone has made that truth deeply personal. All the striving, all the accumulation, all the labor of a lifetime — none of it crosses the threshold of eternity.
Which raises the question Solomon keeps asking:
Then what?
Wrestling With a Complicated Love
Grief is rarely simple. Losing my mother has not been one emotion but many layered together.
There has been sadness.
There has been reflection.
There has been tenderness.
And there has also been the ache of a relationship that was often painful.
Our history carried wounds — words spoken, identity shaped, value measured in ways that took years to untangle. Death does not erase complexity. It simply changes its context.
I find myself holding both realities at once:
She was my mother.
And our relationship was hard.
In that tension, deeper questions surface — not only about her life, but about every human life:
What truly matters in the end?
What does a lifetime ultimately amount to?
What follows this life?
These are the very questions Ecclesiastes refuses to let us avoid.
The Illusion of What We Think Matters
I grew up in an environment where worth was often measured externally — achievement, success, possessions, performance. Later in life, my family came into significant financial security, and with that came a worldview shaped strongly around money, status, and acquisition.
Ecclesiastes speaks directly into that mindset:
“He who loves silver will not be satisfied with silver.”
— Ecclesiastes 5:10 (NKJV)
The more I reflect on my parents’ lives and now their passing, the more Solomon’s words echo: wealth promises security, but it cannot follow us beyond death. All the toil of accumulation ends at the same place for every human being — the grave.
This realization has not made me judgmental. It has made me sober.
Because the same question applies to every one of us:
If all of this ends… then what?
The Longing Ecclesiastes Explains
Ecclesiastes also gives the answer to why human striving never satisfies:
“He has put eternity in their hearts.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:11 (NKJV)
There is something inside every person that earthly things cannot fill. We can pursue success, recognition, wealth, pleasure, or approval — yet the deeper ache remains. We were created for relationship with God, and until that relationship is restored, the search continues.
My mother’s passing has brought that truth into focus again. Death has a way of exposing what was temporary and what was eternal all along.
Life is short.
Eternity is real.
And the most important question any human life answers is what we have done with God.
The Gospel That Changed My Story
When I was thirty years old, I came to understand personally what the Bible teaches about salvation — that Jesus Christ died for my sins and made a way for me to be reconciled directly to God.
That realization changed everything.
It lifted burdens I had carried for years.
It gave me forgiveness where I had felt shame.
It gave me belonging where I had felt rejection.
It gave me purpose where I had felt lost.
The message itself is simple and deeply personal.
“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”
— Romans 3:23 (NKJV)
“For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
— Romans 6:23 (NKJV)
“But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
— Romans 5:8 (NKJV)
“That if you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.”
— Romans 10:9 (NKJV)
Scripture also makes clear that this relationship with God is direct:
“For there is one God and one Mediator between God and men, the Man Christ Jesus.”
— 1 Timothy 2:5 (NKJV)
Through His death, the barrier between God and humanity was removed. We are invited to come to Him personally, not through achievement or merit, but through trust in what Christ has already done.
Facing Death With Eternal Perspective
The week my mom passed has reminded me again of what Scripture says:
“For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.”
— James 4:14 (NKJV)
None of us knows what a day may bring. Death does not distinguish between rich or poor, strong or weak. It comes to every life eventually.
Ecclesiastes ends with a conclusion that feels especially weighty in seasons of loss:
“Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is man’s all.
For God will bring every work into judgment.”
— Ecclesiastes 12:13–14 (NKJV)
Standing in grief, that truth becomes unavoidable. The only thing that ultimately remains is our relationship with God.
Where I Am Now
As I prepare to return to Canada for my mother’s passing, I find myself walking a quiet path between grief and clarity. I am not untouched by sorrow. But I am also not without hope.
Ecclesiastes has reminded me that life under the sun is fragile and temporary. The gospel reminds me that life reconciled to God carries eternal meaning.
If there is one truth this season has impressed on my heart, it is this:
Life is short.
Eternity is real.
And God, in His love, has made Himself known.