Mother’s Day always seems to arrive in the soft bloom of spring, when the world is slowly warming, but this year it seems wetter than in past springs.
Life appears to be budding with possibility. That is fitting. Because motherhood is, at its core, about planting seeds. Seeds of kindness, resilience, strength, and love. Hoping they grow in the lives of the people we raise. As we approach Mother’s Day this year, I find myself thinking not just about the holiday in general, but about why it matters, especially for my own mother.
You see, my mother is not someone who demands a spotlight. She is not the kind to drop hints about gifts or expect a fuss. She is the kind of person who will downplay any celebration for herself, while going all-out to make someone else feel special. She is the most thoughtful person, and she feels deeply. She has always been the quiet force that keeps everything moving, the emotional backbone of our family, and the person who tries to make things feel steady, even when the world is spinning.
This could not be truer, especially lately.
But it’s easy to overlook that kind of love. Easy to take for granted the person who never lets the ball drop, who remembers the birthdays, makes baked goods for all to share (let me tell you about her scones). She is that person who never needs applause. That is why we need Mother’s Day. Not as a commercial invention or a reason to buy flowers (though mothers certainly deserve those, too), but as a pause. A deliberate, national pause to say what often goes unsaid.
For my mother, it’s not about recognition—it never has been. But it is about being seen. And what better day than Mother’s Day to make sure the mothers in our lives feel truly seen for who they are and what they’ve given?
Growing up, my mother was the one who woke up early and stayed up late. She worked most of my life, although I do remember years when we were young and she did not. She was the person who got stuff for our lunches (we packed our own), and the person who for a long time schlepped us to rinks both near and far. She sat through piano lessons, Chris’ basketball games, and Steve’s track meets.
She made our home a safe place to land; a place where we could be ourselves, even when we didn’t know who we were becoming. She made sure we had popcorn for Friday night Dukes of Hazzard and did it all with a kind of grace I didn’t fully understand until I became a parent myself.
Mother’s Day is important because moms like mine deserve to know just how deeply their steady love is felt, even when it isn’t always acknowledged. They deserve to hear that their sacrifices mattered. The long nights, going through the periodic chart of the elements prepping for chemistry exams, the giving of themselves again and again, were not unnoticed. They may not have awards or trophies, but they shaped lives. They built futures. They did holy work in the most ordinary moments.
I think most moms worry and are selfless. Quietly passing on items for themselves so their children wouldn’t have to go without. I think of the hours my mom worked, don’t even get Steve started on this one. The sleep she lost. The dreams she quietly tucked into a drawer so ours could shine more brightly.
Her love wasn’t transactional. It has always been there. Constant. Certain.
Now that I’m older, I try to tell her more often what she means to me. There are times she grinds my gears. Is it a daughter thing? I tell myself it is. But there’s something about Mother’s Day that gives that gratitude a bigger stage. It gives us a chance to say: I see you. I appreciate you. I wouldn’t be who I am without you. I definitely would not.
It’s also a chance to reflect on how many roles she played without ever asking for recognition. She was the nurse, the counselor, the chauffeur, the tutor, the chef, the party planner, the disciplinarian, the cheerleader, the quiet hug at the end of a hard day. She was all those things while holding her own worries quietly in the background.
No one prepares you for how much you’ll think about your own mother once you become a parent. Suddenly her patience seems Herculean. Her ability to function on minimal sleep? Legendary. You realize just how much she gave, and you realize just how much you misunderstood what being “tired” really means.
Mother’s Day isn’t just for mothers who raised babies into adults. It’s for all the women who have mothered in one way or another—grandmothers, aunts, stepmothers, foster mothers, godmothers, mentors. But for me, this year, it’s about my mom.
Because I don’t tell her often enough how grateful I am that she was the one who guided me through childhood, who cheered me through adolescence, who steadied me through adulthood. She’s not just my mother. She is the example of kindness, of dignity, of showing up, even when it’s hard, and she is the example of giving more than she takes.
So, on this Mother’s Day, I’ll bring her flowers. I’ll write her a card that probably won’t say everything. But more importantly, I’ll try to be fully present. I’ll sit with her at my table and remember all the years she sat across from me at her table, listening, encouraging, loving all of her kids through every version of myself.
Because Mother’s Day shouldn’t be about one perfect moment. It should be a small return on a lifelong investment. A reminder that the quiet, often invisible work of motherhood is the very foundation on which lives are built.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. This past Sunday. Yesterday. Today. And every day.
I love you.
