A Day That Hurts: A Letter for Mother’s Day Grief

Mother’s Day doesn’t feel like a celebration for everyone. This is a letter for the ones who hurt — the ones holding grief, distance, or longing. I wrote this for you.

Hey there,

I know… time flew by, and here we are again. The day when stores fill up with flowers and “Mom” is monogrammed on everything. When TV commercials and social media ads are all about brunch with your mom and nana, and the latest mashup of birth flowers, initials, and big-and-little bear trinkets that fit together in some annoyingly cute puzzle.

Maybe this day brings a deep thud to your core—a searing pain in your chest.
Maybe you look at it all sadly, having stood in this same spot for years.
Maybe it brings you to a dead stop because it’s the first time since.
Maybe you do your best to avoid it altogether—maybe you don’t even go to the store.
Maybe you feel both happiness and sadness—because there’s something to celebrate, and yet something missing.

You probably dread being asked what you're doing for Mother’s Day, not wanting to name what’s absent. People don’t really know how to respond anyway. Maybe you’ve mastered the art of giving just enough of an answer that no one asks more. Maybe you tell a complete lie, hoping to avoid the awkwardness or pity that haunts you for days after. And when you hear the plans others have, it might stir up anger, sadness, pain, longing… even jealousy.

To those who have grieved the loss of their mother — I see you.
To those whose mothers want nothing to do with them — I see you.
To those who have had to cut their mothers off — I see you.
To those for whom the relationship with their mother brings pain — I see you.
To those who deeply long to be a mother — I see you.
To those who have lost someone who would have called them Mom — I see you.
To anyone who feels pain when this day comes — I see you.

I see your quiet struggle. I know the feelings that crash over you when no one’s around.
I see your heartache. I see the loneliness and isolation this pain brings.
And I promise — there are more people feeling this way than you know.

There are no platitudes here. No pithy sayings that make your ears burn or your eyes sting.
Just space for you — and space for the reason you hurt.

It’s not supposed to be this way. I know. I’m sorry.

With love,
Kristen