Mother's Day is traditionally when we celebrate the women who raised us, expressing our deep appreciation, admiration, and love. But for me, as a mother grieving the loss of my own mom, the day feels profoundly incomplete. The TV ads, social media promotions, and flyers for Mother's Day deals pass me by. I skip contests like "win flowers for your mom"—it's heartbreaking to place those blooms on a gravestone instead of handing them to her in person. A Mother's Day without a mother truly feels worlds apart.
The day before Mother's Day, I lost my mother...
It happened the day before Mother's Day—the most poignantly double one yet. I'd just lost my mom, yet the next morning, my three children proudly presented their handmade crafts. Of course, I cherished them; after all, I am their mother. It took me back to my own childhood, handing my mom a slab of clay with my painted handprint. She beamed with joy at every homemade gift, or so it seemed to me. In truth, those treasures—like paper teapots, cut-out flowers, and clay memo holders—likely ended up in the trash after a few weeks.
You might be more like your mother than you realize...
We kept Mother's Day simple: a quick coffee visit, maybe a small treat. Now, facing Mother's Day without her, I sometimes envy friends who still have their moms. They complain about meddling—"My mom and I are so different!"—but wait until you see the similarities. My mother wasn't perfect; we disagreed plenty. Yet I've come to recognize how much I'm like her in ways I never imagined.
No one else shares your earliest memories quite like Mom
You only get one mother—the one who remembers you playing with dolls, the chipped canine tooth, your kindergarten triumphs. She knew your toddler passions, bandaged your scraped knees. As Karin Bloemen sings in 'No Child Anymore': "No one will ever share your earliest childhood with you again." Photo albums, aunts, uncles, even Dad—they can't match her storytelling, wrapped in that unique blanket of maternal love.
What runs through your mind on Mother's Day?
This Mother's Day, I'll think of my mom while savoring my role as one myself—the privilege of motherhood. Sure, my kids test me endlessly (they've called me "the world's stupidest mom"), and I'm tired of them sometimes too. But they light up my world. Though I lack parents to reminisce my childhood with, I pour that same motherly love over my children—just by being there. That's what they'll carry forward, what they'll reflect on when Mother's Day comes after I'm gone. And that's why, this year, I'll bring flowers to her grave once more. Because she was always there for me.
P.S. Geja's story landed in my inbox just as I planned to write this—uncannily familiar. That's why stories like these from moms resonate so deeply.
