Honoring Moms: A Different Perspective

Mother’s Day always feels like a cluster of emotions for me—each turn bringing a different feeling, a different memory, a different kind of ache or joy as I ride my emotional rollercoaster.

My mother is gone. So are both of my grandmothers. All the mother figures on my husband’s side have passed as well. On this day meant to honor and celebrate the women who nurtured and raised us, I find myself feeling the weight of their absence like a stone in my chest. There is a quiet, heavy void where their laughter used to echo, where their hugs once gave comfort, where their wisdom guided me without words.

And yet—I’m a mother now. I’m the one being celebrated.

I have an eleven-year-old boy who is full of life, curiosity, and a pure kind of love that takes my breath away. Around Mother’s Day, I ride this emotional roller coaster, caught somewhere between sorrow and joy, between a deep, aching longing and an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

My son showers me with handcrafted gifts—those precious art creations he pours his heart into. His crooked handwriting, the glue still drying, the misspelled words, the glittery mess—it all makes me cry. I cry because I’m happy. Because I’m loved. Because I’m lucky.

And yet… I want to bring my mom a bouquet of her favorite flowers—Birds of Paradise. I want to sit in my grandmothers’ kitchens, smell the familiar comfort of their cooking, hear them tell stories from a time before I was born. I want to feel like someone’s little girl again. But I can’t. They’re all gone. And that truth stings every year.

Still, my husband and my son do their best to lift me. They make my day special in the ways that matter most—simple, loving gestures: a family walk on the beach, cookies baked in the kitchen, hugs that last a little longer than usual. They remind me that life moves forward, and there is beauty in what we continue to create, even as we carry the past with us.

I know I’m not alone in this. Holidays like Mother’s Day often come with a tangled mix of feelings for so many. Grief has a way of making itself known, even in the middle of celebration. But as someone once said—Grief is the price we pay for love. And while sadness hurts, the love behind it makes every tear worth it.

So today, I hold space for both. I miss the women who shaped me. I celebrate the boy who made me a mother. I cry, I laugh, I remember, I give thanks. And I let myself feel it all.

Because this is what it means to love and be loved deeply.

Happy Mother’s Day—to those who are here, to those we’ve lost, and to those who are mother figures in any form.