Mother’s Day: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Three years ago, I wrote about the complicated emotions that Mother’s Day can bring. Reading it again today, I realize the ache hasn’t disappeared…but my understanding of it has deepened.

Since then, I’ve walked alongside even more grieving mothers, daughters, widows, women longing to become mothers, and people carrying invisible heartbreak through holidays that the world tells us are supposed to feel joyful.

So today, I wanted to revisit these words—not because grief needs to be “fixed,” but because people need to feel seen.

Because Mother’s Day can hold beauty and heartbreak at the exact same time.

And if that’s you this weekend, you are not alone.

Oh, Mother’s Day.

A day wrapped in flowers, brunch reservations, handmade cards, family photos, and social media tributes.

A day of honoring the women who raised us.
A day of celebrating motherhood.
A day many people love.

But for others?
It can feel like walking barefoot through memories.

How does someone celebrate Mother’s Day when their mother is gone?

How does a mother celebrate when her child has died?

How does someone survive the day while aching to become a mother themselves?

How does a widow carry both gratitude and grief while trying to hold a family together?

These are the quieter stories sitting at the table this weekend too.

And they matter.

I’m incredibly grateful that I still have my mom. She’s hardworking, loving, a little silly, and always there when we need her. She has loved our family faithfully through all the beautiful and broken moments life has handed us.

I’ve also been blessed with two wonderful mothers-in-law throughout my life journey.

One of them, Suzanne, carries the unimaginable reality of both her children being gone. There are moments when she’s said she no longer feels like a mother anymore—and that sentence alone could break a person open. But she is a mother. A beautiful one. She raised two incredible humans whose love and legacy still ripple into this world today.

And my mother-in-law Judy? She’s one of the good ones too. Supportive, steady, loving, and always cheering people on in quiet but meaningful ways.

Motherhood leaves fingerprints everywhere.
Even in grief.
Especially in grief.

One of the greatest gifts we can give grieving people on Mother’s Day is acknowledgment.

Not avoidance.
Not silence.
Not pretending their people never existed because we’re uncomfortable.

A simple:
“Tell me about your mom.”
“What was your child like?”
“What do you miss most?”

Those questions are not painful interruptions.

They are invitations.

People who are grieving do not need their loved ones erased to make others comfortable. They want to remember them. They want someone else brave enough to say their names out loud.

I remember when I was creating Mother’s Day cards years ago, I reached out to a friend who had lost her mom and asked her for input. She later told me how honored she felt—not because I had all the right words, but because I acknowledged her grief and her mother mattered enough to be included in the conversation.

It really can be that simple.

And for the mothers grieving a child this weekend…

I see you.

The moms visiting cemeteries instead of crowded restaurants.
The moms carrying both pride and pain in the same breath.
The moms smiling for family pictures while quietly wondering who should also be standing there beside them.

It’s complicated.

I know what it feels like to love the child who is gone while fiercely loving the child still here.

I miss my son Garret every single day.
And I thank God every single day for Graci.

Both truths live together.

Graci made me a mother first, and I will forever be grateful for the life she lives and the joy she brings into this world. She has also unknowingly helped carry me through some of the darkest seasons of my life simply by existing, growing, laughing, and needing me to keep going.

And Garret?
I was only able to raise him for a short time, but I will forever be his mom too.

Grief does not erase motherhood.
Love does not end because life did.

To the women longing to become mothers…

I see your ache too.

The waiting.
The hoping.
The failed attempts.
The exhaustion of trying to stay hopeful while your heart quietly breaks month after month.

Whether your journey leads through IVF, adoption, fostering, unexpected paths, or outcomes that look different than you once imagined, please know your longing matters too.

Mother’s Day can be tender for you in ways others may never fully understand.

And to the dads carrying both parental roles…

We see you too.

The dads learning ponytails and bedtime routines.
The dads carrying grief while still trying to create stability.
The dads standing in both roles because life changed in ways they never planned for.

You matter deeply in this conversation.

This weekend may feel beautiful for some and brutal for others.
Sometimes both at once.

So if Mother’s Day feels heavy for you, here are a few gentle reminders:

• Take the nap.
• Stay in the pajamas.
• Eat the ice cream.
• Plant the flowers.
• Go for the walk.
• Write the letter.
• Look through the photos.
• Laugh at the memories.
• Cry at the memories.
• Turn your phone off if social media becomes too loud.
• Protect your peace without guilt.

You are allowed to survive the day however you need to.

And if you are someone fortunate enough to still have your mom or your children close, I hope this weekend gently reminds you to hold those ordinary moments a little tighter.

Even the messy ones.
Even the exhausting ones.
Even the loud, chaotic, beautifully imperfect ones.

Because what feels ordinary to one person may feel sacred to someone else who no longer has it.

At the end of the day, Mother’s Day is not just about perfect pictures or polished celebrations.

It’s about love.
Presence.
Memory.
Legacy.
Connection.

It’s about the people who shaped us.
The people we shaped.
And the people we continue loving long after loss changed the story.

So wherever this weekend finds you—celebrating, grieving, longing, surviving, remembering, or simply trying…

You are still loved.
You are still seen.
And your story still matters.

“The art of mothering is to teach the art of living to children.” — Elaine Heffner

And maybe one of the greatest lessons motherhood teaches us is this:

Love never truly leaves.
It simply changes form.