This year marked my first funeral in over a decade. Despite the sweltering summer heat and an unexpected downpour at the cemetery, the atmosphere felt oddly familiar. Fifteen years ago, on a dreary February afternoon, I found myself standing in the same spot, my boots sinking into the muddy earth, hands intertwined with my mother’s and grandmother’s as we mourned my grandfather’s passing. Fast forward to that August day, and it was my grandmother’s turn to depart, leaving me with only one hand to hold. Now, just my mother and I remained, our grip tighter than ever—a sweaty-palmed promise to support one another through the challenges ahead.
As Mother’s Day approaches and the temperatures rise, my children have already begun their school projects that will result in handprint crafts, lacy hearts, and Crayola sunflowers with their grinning faces at the center. This year, however, my mother faces this day for the first time without her own mother—someone who has loved deeply and now must navigate the bittersweet memories. I write this message to her and to all mothers who are feeling that absence today.
To the Mothers of Young Ones
I know you will come across photos on your phone, fridge, or social media that will remind you of the woman you miss. On this May morning, you may wake up exhausted, yet still share a smile as your children bring you lumpy pancakes in bed. I can picture you showering praise on whatever gifts they offer, whether handmade, store-bought, or accompanied by sweet tackle hugs. You will kiss their heads, inhaling the scents of childhood—their sweet sweat, warm breaths, and the lingering aroma of baby shampoo. I know you will help them dress and remind them of their manners during your celebratory meal, all while your heart aches for the nurturing you also crave.
You might hide the tears that threaten to spill at the thought of the woman who came before you. As you move through this day, snippets of conversations with her may echo in your mind, making the day feel even more significant in her absence. I know there will be a moment when you step away, taking quick, shallow breaths before allowing the tears to flow freely—like the child you wish you could still be. It’s perfectly okay to cry like that. Kids have a way of doing it right, with snot, hiccups, and flushed faces that leave you feeling both drained and rejuvenated.
Eventually, you will put on a brave face once again for the little hands seeking to check on you. I hope you end this day as it began—with kisses, pajamas, and warm bodies to comfort you. I wish for you to feel that comfort in return. May the bedtime songs and gentle caresses help ease your mind and heart, allowing you to let this day pass with its mix of joy and sorrow.
To the Mothers of Mothers
I know you will sift through old photographs tucked away in your attic, albums, or bedside tables, holding them a moment longer as you trace the contours of a life you wish you could rewind. You might long to call your children but will wait for them to reach out first—letting their breakfasts in bed and homemade cards unfold as they did for you once upon a time. This is how you mother now—with patience and understanding for the rituals you enacted years ago.
You’ll smile through the phone as your children’s laughter or squabbles fill the background. I recognize you will feel happiness for their joy, yet the silence will feel louder once the call ends, after the phone returns to its place, and the memories wash over you. You may also take time to speak to your mother, sharing all the things you wish you could say if she were on the other end of the line today. As the day unfolds, you will wear many hats—the mother, the grandmother, and yes, the child who misses her own mother. That’s allowed. Embrace all aspects of yourself. When night falls, may you reflect on the countless Mother’s Days that have come and gone, and those still to come.
To all mothers navigating the complex emotions of feeling motherless today, know that you are not truly alone. You don’t have to fit into a single role. You can cry like a child. You can yearn for the hand you no longer hold, even while grasping the hands of your own children, regardless of their age. You may be the woman in the line of red rover, calling out to the other side while standing here, because Mother’s Day is a tribute—an opportunity to honor both celebration and remembrance.
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Summary
This piece reflects on the emotional complexities of Mother’s Day for those who have lost their mothers. It offers comfort and understanding to mothers who are navigating their grief while still fulfilling their roles as caregivers. The narrative acknowledges the duality of joy and sorrow that the day brings, encouraging readers to embrace their feelings and remember their loved ones.
Keyphrase: Mother’s Day for the motherless
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