“Her Voice in the Silence”

Mother’s Day always brought a flood of memories.
The smell of her perfume, subtle and warm, would linger in the air long after she’d left the room. The soft hum of her voice, humming lullabies or telling stories, had always filled the space with a quiet kind of magic. Even the way she’d smile without saying a word, the kind of smile that told you everything was okay, stayed with you—like a whisper in the back of your mind.

For many, the day was filled with flowers, cards, and gifts. But for those who had lost their mothers, it carried a different weight—a bittersweet reminder of what once was.

And yet, as the years went by, I realized something profound: My mom never really left.

Her presence was stitched into the fabric of my day-to-day life. The way I still stir my coffee in the same slow, steady motion she did. How I pause before making a decision, as if I can hear her gentle advice whispering through my thoughts. Her laughter, her words, the way she always knew how to make me feel safe—they lived in me, wrapped around my heart like a comforting blanket.

On Mother’s Day, I didn’t just remember her. I felt her.
I felt her in the flowers I picked from the garden, in the way I watered the plants she loved. I felt her in the quiet moments of reflection, when my thoughts would wander to all the lessons she’d taught me without ever knowing she was teaching. The strength in kindness. The patience in silence. The power of an open heart.

I understood then: It’s not about honoring her on just one day.
It’s about carrying her with me—her love, her wisdom, her spirit—into everything I do.
And every time I need her, I don’t have to look far.
I simply close my eyes, and there she is.

Present.
Alive.
Always.