Mother’s Day for the Bereaved Mom

I want to start this post by saying I am nowhere near an expert on grief or being a bereaved mom. I lost my 6-year-old son nearly three weeks ago. As I write this, we’re approaching Bereaved Mother’s Day—the Sunday before Mother’s Day. Funny how you don’t even know certain days exist… until you do.

I am a mother of three—two earth side (a feisty one-year-old and a sassy four-year-old) and one in heaven (my 6-year-old doppelgänger, RJ). Although I haven’t experienced it yet, I know this Mother’s Day will be hard. I miss my son daily, and over the last two months—six weeks of that on hospice—I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on what motherhood really is.

Motherhood is hard. Honestly, I think we can all agree it’s the hardest thing most of us have ever done. It comes with endless thoughts, responsibilities, plans, and anticipation. It’s an irreversible, committed relationship—to care for, nurture, and guide our children through this life. For me, during hospice, motherhood meant ushering my son to heaven. It meant checking off his bucket list, making sure he had the pain medication he needed, and telling him 80 times a day how proud I was of him and how much I loved him. I spent 3.5 years helping RJ conquer cancer—making sure he had the nutrition to fight, the strength to keep going, and the creativity to live fully. And I’m proud to say… he did. He truly lived his fullest life.

RJ died in my arms on April 15, 2026 on a random Wednesday at noon. Moments after I realized he had taken his last breath, I screamed and cried—and then I thanked the Lord for choosing me to be his mother. Then I felt relief. Relief that he no longer had to fight, no longer had to get poisoned pumped into his little body, lose his hair, experience pain that woke him up out of his sleep at night, that he was finally at peace. And after came the sadness, the tears, the despair. The kind that settles deep—the knowing that I won’t get to learn random new animal facts from him, kiss him, hold him, or listen to him bicker with his siblings again.

In such a short time, so much has changed. I find myself crying at random moments, thinking of what “could of been” of his life. Some days I want to shut down. But then I look at his siblings—who are used to a mom who created space for them to be creative, silly, and fully themselves. And while it’s hard to be the old version of me, I’m learning and working towards embracing this new version of motherhood. I’m learning that the most important part of motherhood is that it’s irreversible. I will forever be a mother of three. The only thing that has changed is the location of one of my babies.

Now, I’m teaching my children—and myself—to feel and embrace our emotions, and to have patience with this process. We are walking this grief journey together. Each day looks different, but we are still a family. And I will forever be their mother. So if you’re a mother like me, feeling anxious about Mother’s Day, I want to encourage you to embrace it—the joy and the sadness that come with it. Celebrate your journey with motherhood. The laughter, the chaos, the love your children have brought into your life—and the love you’ve poured into theirs.Because no matter what… you will forever be their mother. Happy Mother’s Day!