Still Showing Up: A Motherless Daughter’s Story

Mother’s Day can be a celebration—but for many, it’s also a quiet space filled with grief, memory, and longing.

This is my story.

As Mother’s Day approaches, I find myself reflecting on what it has meant to live without my mother.

At the age of 16, I became a motherless daughter.
Those two words are a mouthful—and a reality I wouldn’t wish on any young woman.

At 16, I faced something no child should have to experience. I planned my mother’s funeral—from picking out her undergarments to writing her final life story in her obituary. I cannot tell you how I did it, but I did.

And somehow, I have survived 31 years without her.

At 17, I became a mother myself. If I’m honest, part of that came from missing the love I had received from my own mother.

Let me tell you about her.

She had a heart of gold. She loved to read. She loved her family. She believed in creating memories. And most importantly, she loved me.

I credit the mother I became to the mother who first showed me what family truly is.

May 11 marks 31 years since I lost my mother—alive and breathing.
It is also the day my world came crashing down.
The day I became a motherless child.

People often ask me, “How do you keep smiling? How do you keep going?”

The answer is simple: I pray.
I hold on to the memories.
And truthfully, I don’t have the strength not to keep going.

My mom was the pillar of her family—but the foundation of my soul.
She lived with honesty and love, no matter what she faced. She treated others the way she wanted to be treated.

And that stayed with me.

At 17 and again at 21, I became a mother to my daughter and my son. Holding them for the first time was euphoric. It made me wonder—is this what my mom felt when she held me?

But when I got home, reality set in.

I was a mother…without my mother.

I remember thinking:
What the hell—and how the hell—am I going to do this?
How could I become the mother she was without her here to guide me?

There were days I cried when my children cried.
Days I felt like they deserved more than I could give.

But I kept going.

I kept striving to be the mother my mother was to me.

And in beautiful, unexpected ways, she never really left.

My daughter looks so much like her.
My son carries her features from when she was young.

My mom has always been here—not physically, but in my heart and in my children.

Today, my children are 29 and 27. They grew up hearing stories about their grandmother. And in many ways, they know her.

And still, I grew up missing my mother.

If you never knew my mom, you may not know the kind of woman she was.

But if you know me, you’ve experienced her.

Grief comes in many forms. Life will bring curveballs, roadblocks, and heavy days. But don’t give up.

On the days I couldn’t function, I looked at my greatest creations—my children—and kept going. Because they didn’t deserve to grow up without a mother the way I did.

And even now…

I still dread Mother’s Day.
I still cry on May 11.
I still wake up every day as a motherless daughter.

And still—

I show up.