Mothering: Honoring, celebrating my children

Grief and Joy Co-Exist

Honoring My Son, Celebrating My Daughter

Your feeds are probably overflowing with sweet, funny, and heartfelt Mother's Day posts. Here's my take, which might be a little different. I'm coping with the loss of my son while celebrating the joy my daughter brings. It's a complicated mix of emotions, and that's perfectly okay. Being a mom to both of them is the greatest gift I've ever received.

Memories with Kevin

I still remember five years ago—my first Mother's Day without my son, just three months after he passed. I was deep in grief. That night, however, I had the most vivid dream, which felt more like a visit. He hugged me so tightly that I almost felt his arms around my neck. "Happy Mother's Day, Mom," he said. I woke up and shook my husband, saying, "Kevin is alive." But I realized it was just a dream as I fully woke up. Still, that dream helped me get through the day, and it's something I hold dear along with all the memories that time, sadness, or even death can't take away.

Painted by Kevin, 2007

Kevin always thought Mother's Day was a bit of a Hallmark holiday. He believed that moms should be celebrated every day, not just once a year. He wasn't a fan of store-bought cards; he preferred making his own—simple and heartfelt, just like him. Those handmade cards meant a lot to me. He also created thoughtful paintings as gifts, each one showcasing his favorite colors and flowers (see photo). I treasure all those shared moments—talking, going for walks, sipping coffee, cooking, or barbecuing—building connections and creating sweet memories forever etched in my heart.

Kevin probably knew the history of Mother's Day, but I just learned of it. In 1914, Mother's Day became a national holiday, and it was founded by Anna Jarvis in 1908. She aimed for the day to be heartfelt and personal, focusing on honoring mothers through church attendance and handwritten letters. Jarvis opposed the commercialization and spent her inheritance fighting to preserve its original meaning. Unfortunately, her efforts were futile; she died poor and unrecognized in a sanitarium in 1948.

Celebrating My Daughter

In the early days of my grief, when hopelessness clouded my vision, my daughter became the light that encouraged me—even on the dimmest days. Her presence reminded me of the blessings of having her as my child.

Created in 2020

On Mother's Day 2020, she and her family visited our house, bringing food and a thoughtful craft project. We created a beautiful plaster-of-Paris garden craft engraved with Kevin's name (see photo below). Her unwavering support and love shine brightly in countless ways. I always knew she missed her brother, but she also understood my sorrow. Whether it's a simple phone call, an afternoon spent playing board games, sharing meals, going out to eat, or a spontaneous laugh that brings back brighter times, those moments mean everything. Only God knows the depth of her feelings and what she continues to endure without her only brother.

My daughter and I share a quiet, steadfast bond— built on unspoken memories and friendship. It encompasses not just love, but also the ache of shared loss. She possesses a gentle strength that doesn't always require words to be felt. Even while grieving, she has created a safe space for me. The trust she places in us with her two beautiful daughters is a gift beyond measure. Spending time with our granddaughters adds a healing rhythm to our days. Their laughter fills the empty, melancholic spaces, even in the profound absence of Kevin. While this doesn't erase the ache, it helps to soften it.

Being her mom is a blessing that grounds and heals me, reminding me that love endures even through heartache. Losing a child rewires the heart. I mother differently now—with deeper tenderness, fiercer gratitude, and a bittersweet awareness that nothing is promised. I am acutely aware of how precious and fleeting life and joy can be.

And Then There's the Loneliness

Grief casts long shadows, especially on days like today. Even when surrounded by the warmth of love from my daughter, family, and husband, there's an unmistakable emptiness—a space reserved for the one who isn't here.

Mother's Day amplifies that absence—perfect families in restaurants, social media glowing with tributes. I smile genuinely for the love I still have, but behind that smile is a silence I can hear—the absence of a missing laugh, a hug I can't return, a voice I'll never hear again.

Kevin's absence isn't empty; it's loud. It echoes through the traditions we try to keep and the places where he once stood. It's evident in the chair he should be sitting in, the plate that isn't set, and his essence that no one can see anymore. Yet somehow, that absence becomes its presence. It transforms the way I see everything.

It's been 11 years since my mom passed, but I've felt her presence more than ever, especially after losing my son. That kind of heartbreak opens your soul in a way that's hard to explain. Two nights ago, I dreamed of her. It felt like more than a dream—her spirit comforted me and reminded me I'm not alone. A mother's love is eternal, a bond that even death can't break. I am also reminded of Isaiah 66:13—"As a mother comforts her child, so will God comfort me…"

God doesn't shy away from sorrow—He enters into it with us. One of the most poignant examples is Mary, the mother of Jesus, who watched her son suffer and die. John 19:25 – "Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother…" Mary's presence at the crucifixion reflects a mother's love and anguish. She is a biblical symbol of deep, holy grief.

To all mothers, remember that you are not alone on your journey, whether you walk the delicate path between what is and what once was, between joy and sorrow, or between holding on and letting go. Every woman carries a beautiful, unique story and purpose.

Whether you are a biological, adoptive, or spiritual mother; a first-time mom or an empty nester; or a mom who is waiting, praying, longing, or grieving—God sees you, hears your prayers, and holds you close in every season. Today, I celebrate the incredible woman and mother you are!

Navigating Grief and Joy

Grief and love walk hand in hand, creating a beautiful and complex tapestry of emotions. They don't cancel each other out but deepen our understanding. I hold both feelings close, acknowledging them with strength and reverence, embracing the truth that Kevin remains with me even in his absence. It's like standing in the warm sunlight while feeling a storm brewing inside. I am grateful for all I have, even as my heart aches for what is no longer here.

Today, I honor my son with every breath while celebrating my daughter with each precious moment we share. I cradle the richness of this day—the ache, the awe, the memories, and the miracles—in the tender and sacred space of a mother's heart.

So, those who feel pressured to celebrate, set your boundaries and do what serves you. You are not alone!

---