Say It Now: Why Mother’s Day Feels Different After Loss
After losing Todd, Mother's Day became this weird day for me.
Mother’s Day has a way of showing up whether you’re ready for it or not.
It’s in your inbox.
In store displays.
On every commercial that assumes this day feels the same for everyone.
But it doesn’t.
For a lot of people, Mother’s Day isn’t just about celebration.
It’s about absence.
It’s about love that doesn’t have a place to land anymore.
And that changes everything.
Mother’s Day: After Losing My Spouse
Mother’s Day feels heavier in ways no one really talks about.
I am still a mother.
Still showing up. Still doing the work.
Being mom—and trying to fill Todd’s shoes too.
But the person who used to say “Happy Mother’s Day”… isn’t there.
There’s no partner to:
- remind the boys it’s Mother’s Day
- make the plans
- recognize the effort I put in as a mother
And sometimes, the hardest part isn’t the logistics.
It’s the quiet.
No one to parent with. No one who fully gets my kids.
The missing acknowledgment.
The empty space where someone used to say, “I see you. We’re in this together.”
Don’t get me wrong—my Chapter 2 (aka Ben) does his best.
But it’s just… different.
One Mother’s Day, about two years into our relationship, I had a full grief meltdown.
Ben went up to his office to work, and I climbed into bed to give up on the day—an old coping mechanism from those early grief days.
I ended up crying my eyes out.
When he came in and asked what was wrong, the only thing I could get out through sobs was:
“I want my old life back.”
Not the best thing I could have said.
But it was raw. It was honest.
And I just said it.
Mother’s Day: After Losing a Child
This is the kind of grief I can’t fully imagine—but I think about it often.
Especially for Todd’s mom, and for any mother who has lost a child.
It just isn’t supposed to happen.
You are still a mother.
But the world doesn’t always know how to hold space for that.
Mother’s Day can feel like:
- being left out of conversations
- not knowing where you belong
- hearing silence where there should be a name
You might want to talk about them.
Or you might not.
You might celebrate quietly.
Or not at all.
There’s no right way to carry this.
Only your way.
Mother’s Day: After Losing Your Own Mother
I’m lucky to still have my mom.
But I know there will be a day when I don’t.
And I see friends, family, and coworkers already living this reality.
I imagine this is the Mother’s Day that sneaks up on you.
You reach for the phone…
and remember.
You see something she would have loved…
and have nowhere to send it.
And underneath it all is this quiet realization:
No matter how old you are,
losing your mom changes something fundamental in you.
So What Do You Do With All of This?
You don’t have to force this day into something it’s not.
You don’t have to celebrate the way everyone else is.
You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt.
But if there’s one thing worth holding onto, it’s this:
If you’re thinking about someone…
say it now.
Tell the mothers in your life you appreciate them—if you do.
Even if the relationship is complicated.
Reach out if you’ve been meaning to check in.
Send the message you keep rewriting but never sending.
Because grief has a way of teaching this lesson—
sometimes too late.
A Little More Light
Mother’s Day isn’t one story.
It’s a thousand different experiences, all happening at once.
Some joyful. Some complicated. Some deeply painful.
If this day feels heavy for you, you’re not alone in that.
And if someone crosses your mind while reading this…
That’s your moment.
Say it now.
If you don’t have the words, that’s okay.
Sometimes a simple note can say what’s hard to say out loud.
So it might not be a Mother's Day card but if you know a widow, a mother who has lost a child, or a woman who has lost their own mother, we have just the right words for you to share with them: Welcome to the Grief Club. We see you.
Also, take a peek at our funny Mother's Day cards and send a Grief & Joy gift card to make your life easy!


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