A Mother’s Day Made of Ink and Absence

Honoring My Mother

As Mother’s Day approaches, I’ve been sitting with thoughts of my mom. This will be the fourth year without her, and I remember how the first three felt—heavy, sharp, and full of sadness. The holiday became a spotlight on everything I missed about her, everything I still wanted to say, everything I wished I could feel again.

This year, something has shifted. I still honor her memory, but my reflections have widened. I’ve been thinking about her love for writing—how she dreamed of becoming a published author long before independent publishing existed. Her rejection letters became a quiet archive of her persistence. Her stories never made it into the world; only a handful of people ever saw her work.

Realizing that has made me acutely aware of the privilege I have now. I get to write. I get to publish. I get to share my voice in ways she never had access to. And in that, I feel her with me.

Appreciating Her Strength and Legacy

In past years, grief was the only thing I could feel. I mourned her with a kind of intensity that swallowed everything else. This year, the missing is still there, but it’s softened by something new - appreciation.

I find myself grateful for her strength, her beauty, her resilience. As I write my book, I’m seeing her through a different lens. Our childhoods mirrored each other in ways I didn’t fully understand until now. She endured so much, carried so many dark and complicated things, and still managed to love fiercely. She did the best she could with what she had, and that realization has settled into me in a way that feels both tender and clarifying.

I’m thankful for the lessons she taught me - and the ones I’m only now beginning to understand. Her legacy continues to shape me, not just in grief, but in the way I write, the way I see the world, and the way I choose to move forward.