The Ways We Still Find Our Moms | Woodbury, MN Photographer
Mother’s Day looks different this year.
This is my first Mother’s Day without my mom. Even typing that still feels surreal. (And maddening-but we’re not going there today!) In lieu of sympathetic responses, I hope that those who need to read this will. And they’ll know that in the moments of every day life, their mom is still “here” just in different ways, and that they aren’t alone in feeling the loss and heartache. Or if you are a close acquaintance in my life, wondering how I’m getting by? This is what’s happening in a nutshell for me.
I’ve know grief isn’t always about sitting around feeling sad. Sometimes it sneaks in through the ordinary moments in the familiar routines your brain still expects to happen. This has been blindsiding at times. And for every other person in the world who gets hit by these things out of the blue - man, I feel you.
The little moments that catch you
This week, the hummingbirds came back.
Normally, my mom would have been one of the first people I called. I would have told her they were here, and she would have taken that as her cue to get her feeders out too. As I was writing my first draft of this blog post, this hummingbird actually flew up to my feeder. (there is a hand feeder right behind the oriole’s station)
I just smiled and thought, “Hey, Ma.” Then of course a few tears fell.
That seems to be how grief is showing up for me right now.
It’s less about dramatic moments and more about the realization that the person you’d instinctively call is no longer a phone call away.
Mother’s Day and Family Rituals
Mother’s Day weekend is full of those moments.
And the weird thing…I’m a mom too. I don’t forget this, but on Mother’s Day I tend to think of my own mom before myself being a mom that can be celebrated with my son.
Usually, I’d be checking in today to see if she was home on Sunday so I could stop by for a short visit. Or if we are all doing something. We’d walk through her hosta gardens and talk about what was coming up in the yard. She loved flowers, and she especially loved this time of year when everything started waking up again.
Earlier this week, my dad showed me the work he’s been doing to get her gardens ready for the season. I know that has to be hard. Gardening was always my mom’s thing, not his. But seeing him tend to those spaces felt like an act of love, a way of keeping part of her alive in the place she cared about so deeply. I told him he didn’t have to fill every single pot that mom had out, and he agreed. He said “I have to do something to keep busy,” holding back his own tears. I knew what he meant. This is where mom will live on.
The People We Love Stay With Us
And maybe that’s what I’m learning.
The people we love don’t disappear when they die. Yes, of course they are GONE physically. They continue showing up in the habits they passed down, the traditions they started, and the little things that still make us think of them without warning.
So this Mother’s Day, I’m thinking about my mom with a lot of gratitude. I’m grateful for her gardens, her phone calls, her reminders to order flowers through my friend’s school fundraiser, and all the ordinary moments that didn’t feel extraordinary at the time but mean everything now.
For Anyone Missing Their Mom This Year
And if this is your first Mother’s Day without your mom, or if you are several years in to this potential triggering holiday, I’m sending you a big hug. It’s a hard club to be part of, (as a matter of fact it is a shitty group to hold a membership with) - but you’re not alone.
Our moms are still with us. In the stories we tell, in the lessons they taught us, and sometimes in the sudden appearance of a hummingbird at exactly the right moment.
Happy first Heavenly Mother’s Day, Ma.
I miss you, and I carry you with me every day.
Love,
Mondo ❤️
P.S. If your mom, in-law, or someone who loves you like one, is still here, give her a call on Sunday. Stop by for a visit if you can. Ask about what brings her joy, or how her week has been. Say or do the thing that will make her laugh so you can embrace that sound of happiness. Because that is what I’m trying to recall daily, is my mom’s laugh and that rasp of her voice. The ordinary moments are the ones that matter most. I’ll be spending this Mother’s Day helping my son with some gardening in his yard, all the while thinking of my own mom. Cheers, friends.
