Mother’s Day: Love That Stays

Mother’s Day arrives each year wrapped in many emotions.

For some, it is a day of celebration---flowers on the table, laughter in the kitchen, the comfort of a mother’s presence.

For others, it’s quieter. Tender. A day filled with memories, longing, and love that no longer has a place to land.

I find myself somewhere in between.

I lost my mom one year before my husband, David, passed away. At the time, life was already shifting in ways I didn’t fully understand. His illness took much of my focus, my energy, my heart. And in the midst of that, my mother’s loss settled quietly into the background.

For a long time, I carried the feeling that I hadn’t properly grieved her.

Not because I didn’t love her deeply---but because grief doesn’t always come when we expect it to. Sometimes it waits. Sometimes it softens itself so we can survive what’s right in front of us. And sometimes, it returns later, asking gently to be felt.

Mother’s Day has become one of those moments for me.

A pause.

A memory.

A chance to honor not only who she was, but what she continues to be in my life.

My mother lives on in so many ways---in the things she taught me, in the quiet strength she carried, and her very funny spoonerisms that my sister and I have apparently inherited. And although cooking was never something she enjoyed, many of her recipes found their way into Recipes for Healing, not just as meals, but as memories. As love, written down. As a way of keeping close. One of those recipes that brings me closest to her is her clam chowder. Now, when I make her clam chowder, it becomes more than a meal. It’s a moment when time folds in on itself and I can feel her presence. 

There is something sacred about preparing a dish that once came from her hands. The familiar smells, the small rituals, the way certain moments come rushing back---it becomes more than cooking. It becomes connection. And in those moments, standing in my kitchen, I realize…I am still learning from her. Still loving her. Still connected.

And maybe that’s what this day is really about.

Not only honoring the mothers who are here, but also those who are no longer physically with us. The ones who shaped us comforted us and loved us in ways that still echo through our lives.

If you are celebrating today, I hope it is filled with warmth.

If you are remembering, I hope you allow yourself the space to feel whatever comes---whether that is joy, sadness, gratitude, or all three at once.

And if, like me, you are carrying a loss that didn’t have its full moment to be grieved, perhaps today can be a gentle beginning.

A candle lit.

A recipe made.

A memory spoken out loud.

Because love like that doesn’t disappear. 

It simply changes form---and stays.

With love,

Patti