Mothering Sunday: For the Mothers Who Carry Love and Loss

Mothering Sunday arrives each year wrapped in flowers, cards, and warm embraces. For many, it is a joyful day of celebration. But for others, it is a quieter day, one filled with memories, longing, and love that has nowhere visible to go.

Today, I want to pause for those mothers.

The mothers who have lost babies. The mothers who have lost children. The children who miss their mothers. The women whose motherhood lives in memory, in hope, or in silence.

Years ago, not long after I lost my first baby, Mothering Sunday felt unbearable. Everywhere there were cheerful bouquets and smiling families. Inside, there was grief and a sense that I no longer belonged to this day.

Then something extraordinary happened.

A wonderful lady came to see me. She had known deep loss herself; she had lost her own mother and children. In her hands, she carried a small bunch of daffodils.

She gave them to me gently and acknowledged my baby. She didn’t avoid the subject or try to soften it with platitudes. She simply saw my loss.

And then she said words that have stayed with me for more than thirty years:

“You are still a mother.”

Those simple words were a lifeline. They gave me permission to grieve, to remember, and to hold onto my identity as a mother, even though my baby was no longer in my arms.

Her kindness lives in my heart to this day.

Sometimes Mothering Sunday is not about celebration. Sometimes it is about remembrance. Sometimes it is about recognising the love that remains, even when the people we love are gone.

Motherhood is not erased by loss. Love does not disappear because someone is no longer here.

If today is difficult for you, if you are remembering a baby, a child, or a mother, please know this:

I see you.

Your love matters.

Your grief matters.

Your motherhood matters.

And today, I send you my love.