These past six months have been full of firsts.

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First Thanksgiving without you.
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First Christmas without you.

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First New Year’s Eve without your midnight text,

telling me this would be my best year yet.

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First Easter without you.

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First birthday without your call,

your voice always too excited to sing Happy Birthday.

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First birthday you didn’t get to celebrate.

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And now… this.

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The first Mother’s Day without you.

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And Mom, this one feels heavier.

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Because this day was always about you.

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Your smile. Your laughter. Your presence.

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The way you’d brush off the fuss,

but secretly loved every flower,

every phone call,

every hug.

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The way your love stretched to fit everyone who needed it.

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The way your laughter made the walls breathe.

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People keep telling me, “Celebrate her.”

But you’re not here.

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And I don’t know what to do with that,

except miss you.

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Miss you in the big, special-occasion ways,

like when the room is full

and you’re still the one I’m looking for.

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And in the small, silent ones,

like visiting the cemetery

and expecting to hear your voice.

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Still, even in the grief, I want you to know this:

I’m so damn thankful.

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It’s often said we don’t get to choose our parents.

But if I had the choice…

I would choose you

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EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

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I won the mom lottery.

And not just because of what you did,

but because of who you were.

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You were 1 of 1.

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Strong.

Soft.

Funny.

Kind.

Generous.
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The type of woman who made everyone feel like home.

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Who taught me that kindness is a form of courage,

that showing up is love in motion,

that I didn’t have to be perfect to be loved completely.
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You showed me what it means to live with your heart.

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And even now, in your physical absence,

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I still feel your fingerprints on my life.

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In my resilience.

In my softness.

In every instinct that tells me to keep going when it’s hard.

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I won’t pretend this day is easy.

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But I won’t let the grief drown out the gratitude either.

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Because you gave me more than love,

you gave me the blueprint.

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And if I ever become even half the human you were,

I’ll consider that a win.

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So today, I don’t have a card or a bouquet,

but I have this letter.

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And a lifetime of thank you’s

that I’ll keep saying

until the day I see you again.

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I want to reach for the phone to call you…

and then, I remember.

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You’re not just gone.

You’re everywhere, but here.

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I carry you with me, always.

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And today, like every day,

I celebrate you.

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I LOVE YOU MOM. HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

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Your loving son,

Tommy