Let’s talk about Mother’s Day, shall we?

Every second Sunday in May, the world gets flooded with commercials featuring flowers, brunch menus, and perfect families with matching smiles. And don’t get me wrong, I love a good mimosa and a heartfelt card. But when you’ve lived a few decades, lost your mom, been a mom, stepmom, dog mom, and all-around matriarchal figure… Mother’s Day hits different.

Where It All Began

Mother’s Day as we know it started with a woman named Anna Jarvis. After her own mother passed away in 1905, Anna wanted a day to honor moms for real, not with gimmicks, but with heartfelt gratitude. By 1914, President Woodrow Wilson made it official, declaring the second Sunday in May a national holiday. But poor Anna ended up despising how commercial it got. She had a whole meltdown over the fact that florists and greeting card companies were cashing in on something she meant to be sacred.

Honestly? I get it.

When the Day Meant Breakfast in Bed and Crayon Cards

There was a time when Mother’s Day meant waking up to burnt toast and a glass of orange juice precariously balanced on a wobbly tray. Sticky fingers would hand me a card that said something like “You are the best mom in the holl wide world!” and my heart would melt into a puddle. I lived for those moments.

As they got older, the cards stopped being made with crayons and construction paper. Sometimes they didn’t come at all. And that’s okay. Kids grow, life changes, and Mother’s Day becomes more of a reflective pause than a celebration.

Losing My Mother Changed Everything

The first Mother’s Day after my mom passed… well, let’s just say there weren’t enough tissues in the world. My mother, Patti, was everything to me. She was the type of mom who showed up no matter what. Fierce, loyal, warm. The kind of person you just never imagine living without.

And yet, here I am. Living without her.

I still talk to her sometimes. Out loud, in my head, in my dreams. I see her in the way I love my garden. I hear her voice when I’m fussing over my kids (or my dogs). And every Mother’s Day since she left, I feel her presence in a quiet, aching way that’s hard to describe.

What Mother’s Day Means to Me Now

Now, Mother’s Day is a mix of gratitude, grief, and grace. It’s messy and beautiful, kind of like motherhood itself.

It’s a chance to honor my mother by continuing to be the kind of woman she raised, strong but soft, bold but kind.

It’s a reminder that being a mother isn’t always about biology. It’s about presence. Love. Protection. Being someone’s soft place to land.

It’s a moment to celebrate my own journey as a mother, not just the good parts, but the growing pains, the mistakes, the comebacks.

And sometimes… it’s just a good excuse to unplug, be still, and remember how far I’ve come.

So if you’re reading this and Mother’s Day is complicated for you, too, I see you. Whether you’re missing your mom, missing a child, feeling forgotten, or celebrating yourself quietly while the world scrolls past… just know this: You matter. You’ve made a difference. And you’re still making one, even on the days that feel heavy.

Happy Mother’s Day, from one heart-full, healing woman to another.

Pass the mimosa, would ya?