When the Flowers Feel Heavy: A Different Kind of Mother's Day

May 8, 2026

By: Hannah Riley
 
The Elephant in the Room

This Sunday will be full of vibrant flowers, an aisle full of cheery cards, a reminder of something that you are longing for. A day that you once celebrated is now a day you are dreading. This Mother's Day may look different for you now. Instead of going to your parents' or grandparents' house for a day full of celebration, you're going to the cemetery to celebrate with your loved one.

It's okay not to feel okay. You do not "owe" anyone a smile, an "I'm fine" response. It is okay if you are not bubbly, if you feel something beyond the terms of "sad." Today you don't have to be okay.

You are not alone today. There is someone out there feeling the exact same way you are feeling. This post is not about "fixing" the way you are feeling, but about getting through it. It is my hope that this post serves as a support for the daughters and sons who have lost their mothers, who have lost their grandmothers, the mothers who have lost their children. This post is for you.

Identifying the Different Shades of Grief

The Motherless Child

 Today may or may not be the first Mother's Day you are experiencing without the most important person, your mother. You wake up, reach for your phone to call your mom, but the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You can't call her. She will not answer the phone to thank you. She will not ask you what time you are coming over for dinner. You will not give her a gift you picked out for her. This day feels nothing like home, but more like the feeling of an intruder who has stolen something from you.

The Childless Mother

 Today you are supposed to be with your baby. You are supposed to be laying in bed while your child is in the kitchen, utterly destroying it in an attempt to cook you breakfast. You're supposed to be feeling anxious to check out your kitchen warzone after you choke down your breakfast. You're supposed to be hugging your children and telling them how much you love them. Mothers should not bury their children. You should not be driving to the cemetery to lay flowers on your child's gravestone.

To my mothers who have experienced a miscarriage: you are still a mother. You still carried that baby inside of you. Your time with your child was cut painfully short.

To the women waking up to a house that is far too quiet. Today you are supposed to be navigating the beautiful chaos of a messy kitchen and a child's embrace. Instead, you are navigating the clinical silence of hope and the heavy grief of a nursery that remains a "spare room." You are supposed to be exhausted from motherhood, not from the relentless cycles of waiting and waiting. You are grieving a life that has not yet begun, but whose absence is felt in every heartbeat. Your longing is real, your love is valid, and you are seen in the silence.

Survival Strategies for the Day

Digital Boundaries

 Today it's okay to put your phone on Do Not Disturb, avoid doom scrolling on Facebook, or simply turn your phone off. If you are anything like me, turning your phone off is not an option. Here are a couple of tips to help you navigate your phone:

The "Mute" Strategy Mute specific keywords like Mother's Day, brunch, or mom. By doing this, most social media outlets hide posts like this for 24 hours.

Opt Out of Marketing Most brands will email deals for Mother's Day. Unsubscribe from those emails, or simply stay out of Gmail for a day.

Disable Push Notifications Go to your phone's settings and turn off all non-human notifications. Only allow direct calls or texts from a few safe people to get through.

The App "Timeout" Use your phone's built-in app limits. On iPhone it will be called Screen Time, on Android it is called Digital Wellbeing. Set a daily time limit on whatever social media platform of your choice, then when you have reached that limit, it will lock you out of those apps for the rest of the day.

The Power of No

 Give yourself permission to skip brunch, a church service, or a family gathering that feels too heavy. It's okay to tell your family and friends that you are not feeling festive and just want to stay home. You owe no one an explanation for how you grieve this day. We are just trying to survive the day as best as we can.

Redefine the "Celebration"

 Instead of ignoring the day entirely, reclaim it by doing something that has zero Mother's Day energy, and do something for yourself. Have a self-care day. Take that hour-long bath with all of


the bubble bath and bath salts, light that candle you have been saving, and crack open that book you've had on your TBR for months. Have a "you" day.

Set an "End Time" for the Day

Pick a time, maybe it's 6 pm. At 6 pm the holiday is over for you. Close the curtains, put on your favorite pajamas, and switch to a normal Sunday night routine. Having a definitive finish line makes the harder morning and afternoon hours easier to endure.

How to Support a Grieving Friend

 Actionable Advice

 If you want to support a friend today, skip the heavy "How are you feeling?" check-ins. They already know they feel heavy. Instead, try a low-pressure invitation: "I'm thinking about you today, can I bring you a coffee or a treat?" This gives them an easy out if they need solitude, but an open door if they need a distraction. Just be prepared, and perfectly okay, if the answer is "not today."

The Importance of Names

 Don't be afraid to say the name of the person who is missing. Many people avoid it because they don't want to "remind" the person of their loss, but trust me: they haven't forgotten. Using their name shows your friend that you hold that memory too, and that their loved one is still a part of the conversation.

Be Kind to Your Shadow

Remember, today will come to an end. The stores will go back to selling an appropriate amount of flowers, and all of the cheery "Happy Mother's Day" cards will be removed from the shelves. The clock will strike midnight, and the world will move on from today. We will be thrown right back into our normal lives. Take today one minute at a time.

Love survives physical absence. Being a mother, a daughter, or a son still counts, even when the person you share that bond with isn't here to see it.

Back