Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers, grandmothers, and daughters. And to the daughters who are still blessed to have their mothers in their lives, I say this: hold her close. Call her. Visit her. Tell her, not only today but often, how much she means to you. One day, you will long to hear her voice, even for one more minute.

 

Darling, I celebrate you today because you spent years of your life holding your children close, stroking their heads, helping them solve their little and large problems, tucking them into bed, encouraging them, and telling them all would be well. You asked for nothing in return except their love and respect. You were unselfish in your devotion. And what I find almost amusing, in a bittersweet way, is that mothers are officially celebrated only one day of the year.

Mother’s Day and Family Estrangement

For mothers who are living through the curse of estrangement, I know this day can feel unbearable. Mother’s Day can arrive not as a celebration but as a reminder of what is missing. The phone call that does not come. The card that is not mailed. The grandchildren you cannot hug. The family table that no longer has your chair. To you, I say this with a full heart: celebrate yourself anyway.

You are responsible for your own actions, your own healing, your own ability to rise. Unfortunately, you cannot control the actions of your adult children. You cannot force communication, tenderness, or understanding. You can only control the woman you choose to be in the midst of your pain.

So today, practice self care. Not the fluffy kind, but the necessary kind. Recognize your emotions and work with them. Allow yourself to understand and process them because your journey is your own. Find what nourishes your body, mind, and soul.

My Mother

This Mother’s Day, I am thinking deeply about my own mother. Though my mom passed away almost four years ago, I celebrate her every day for her unconditional love, values, wisdom, and example. As I walk through my day, making decisions, dressing for an occasion, responding to a problem, or choosing my words, I hear my mother’s voice in my head. We are a chorus of two because my mother’s voice lives in the tilt of my decisions.

She is not a shadow. She is a strong current alive within me. I am not simply her daughter. I am her continuation, with revisions. There is something almost sacred in that, like standing in a room where the past and present breathe as one. I am my mother’s daughter, and she was her mother’s daughter before her. A living thread passed down from generation to generation. What my mother and grandmother carried did not end with them. It continues in me.

The Realization of Losing My Mother

It never dawned on me that I would lose my mother. Isn’t that strange? Of course, we know our mothers are mortal. We know life is not forever. But somewhere deep inside, a daughter believes her mother will always be there. For 32 years, my mother and I lived in the same building. She was only an elevator ride away until she left me on the first night of Rosh Hashanah in 2022.

A week before her death, I was walking down Pearson Street with my pooch, America. It was early morning, and the city was still fast asleep. I knew my mom was failing, yet until that walk, it had not truly dawned on me that I was going to lose her. The realization was overwhelming. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I walked. My thoughts turned to my mother’s legacy and the gifts she had left inside my head.

Like an old Rolodex spinning through my mind, memories appeared one after another. Stories laced with wisdom. Lessons wrapped in laughter. Warnings spoken with love. Standards lived, not preached. In my eyes, my mother was a woman of valor. Her moral compass was pristine.

Celebrating My Mother’s Legacy

First and foremost, my mother will always be the most important woman in my life. She was my first teacher and her wise lessons have boded me well, and they will remain with me for eternity. Like every mother-daughter relationship, ours had bonds of steel. There were high hills of laughter and exciting times, mixed with an uncharted voyage of discovery along a snaking road sometimes marred by potholes. And yet, the shared chemistry between a mother and daughter is fierce.

Even for mothers facing adult child estrangement, I believe the original bond carries its own mysterious power. It may be wounded, silent or hidden under years of hurt, but the bond itself is not ordinary. It began before words.

My mother gave me my roots and my wings. She gave me the fire in my sails. She showered me with wisdom, taught me right from wrong, and gave me the moral compass to strive for what I believe in, at all costs. One of the most valuable gifts my mother bestowed upon me was the practice of gratitude. Gratitude is the quality of being thankful, showing appreciation, and returning kindness. A grateful woman is a happier woman. Thank you, Mom. As I stand here today, I know my mom would want me to celebrate her life. She learned much over her 100 years and would be pleased if I left you with some of her wisdom.

My Mother’s Wisdom

A few years before she passed, I asked my mother if I could interview her. She was startled but agreed. I am so grateful I asked. Her answers remain with me.

Mom, give me your advice on style.

Your style comes from within and radiates out. It is not the dress you wear, it is the smile you wear. It is twinkling eyes, great posture, a curious mind, and a great personality that will set you apart from other women.

What about gossiping among women?

Remember, dear daughter of mine, if you tell one woman a secret, it is no longer a secret.

What if you know people are talking about you?

That is an easy answer. If people are talking about you, you know you are interesting!

When our children disappoint us, what can we do?

An old and true saying is that one mother can take care of ten children. Ten children have a hard time taking care of one mother. Remember: You give your children their roots and then their wings. It is the progression of life.

You had so many friends. What is your philosophy on friendship?

Have women friends of all ages and walks of life. A clique becomes a bore.

Please share your secret about aging gracefully.

I exercise my mind.

What about skincare?

Use olive oil on your skin. Never soap! I don’t believe in facelifts. Your lines show your life, your persona. The real you.

What makes a happy marriage?

I think you know the answer because you chose wisely. I love your ultimate concierge, and he is not my son-in-law. He is my second son.

Thank you, Mom! Shelly loved you too. But, tell me anyway.

Choosing a spouse is the most important decision you will make in your life. Make a list of what you need and stick to it. Once you got him, don’t lose him. Buy beautiful negligees and never say no in the bedroom!

My mother on loyalty:

Stand by your family and friends. Always take their side unless they disappoint you and prove you wrong.

Her thoughts on personal happiness:

Own your power. Be grateful and give back. Have a purpose. Be curious. Love deeply and laugh often.

What do you attribute your longevity to?

Sometimes I wish it was not so long! I suppose it is my love of laughter. And you! You keep telling me, “ Mom, I need you!”

I did not answer. Instead, I smiled, got up from my chair, wrapped my arms around this mother of mine, and whispered in her ear, “I do need you.” She looked up at me with her twinkling blue eyes, kissed me, and said, “I need you more.” And she did. And I tried my best to be there for her.

The Night Before My Mother Passed

The evening before she passed away, I was with her. I knew she was struggling to stay with me. I leaned over her, kissed her lips gently, and with tears running down my cheeks, gave her permission to pass away peacefully. The next evening, on the first night of Rosh Hashanah, my mother closed her eyes for the last time.

I asked myself, why did my mom pass away on Rosh Hashanah, the beginning of the New Year in Judaism? What was the message? Rosh Hashanah, at its core, is about beginnings braided with endings. It is the moment in the Jewish calendar where life is weighed and renewed. The shofar is not just a trumpet blast. It is a soul alarm, calling us to notice what has been and what will never be again. Losing my mom sits in that exact space.

My mom was my first calendar. My original sense of time and rhythm. When I lost her, my life quietly split into before and after. Now, when Rosh Hashanah arrives, I feel I am standing at a threshold, holding memory in one hand and absence in the other. And there is another layer too. In Jewish thought, Rosh Hashanah is not only about judgment. It is about continuation. The world is renewed. Life insists on itself again. That is where my mother does not disappear. Because I am her continuation. Not metaphorically, but actually, in how I live, decide, remember, and love.

So, yes, losing my mother on the first night of Rosh Hashanah carries meaning for me. The New Year does not erase what we have lost. It invites us to carry our loss differently. It asks us to remember, to renew, and to keep walking with the love we were given. My mother did not leave my story. She became part of every chapter that follows. She was and will always be my heart because I am my mother’s daughter.

A Mother of Substance

My mother was a woman of substance. She had the highest principles and standards. She led a fabulous life. Her only real disappointment was that she was born at the wrong time. If she were a young woman today, I have no doubt she would be the CEO of a company.

I can see her right now doing the daily newspaper crossword puzzle with her morning cup of coffee and croissant. I recall my mom and dad driving from Kankakee by the Sea to Evanston to take courses at Northwestern University. She was always learning. Always curious.

My mom was a fine golfer and skier. When she broke her leg in a skiing accident, she hustled to learn how to knit gorgeous socks with sequins to cover her toes so she could continue dancing with my dad. She learned to needlepoint during her six months in a cast. Nothing stopped my mom from living and learning.

A Mother’s Inner Beauty

This Mother’s Day, I celebrate my mother’s legacy. I celebrate the woman who shaped me, corrected me, loved me, challenged me, and gave me the tools to become myself.

And I celebrate the mothers who are smiling through private pain today…

The mother missing her mother.

The mother estranged from her adult child.

The grandmother longing for grandchildren she cannot see.

The daughter wishing she had said more when she had the chance.

The woman who is both grateful and grieving.

Darling, life after 50 teaches us that joy and sorrow often sit at the same table. We can miss someone deeply and still celebrate them. We can carry a wound and still walk forward. We can have tears in our eyes and gratitude in our hearts.

My mother, my friend, my teacher. I will miss you to my core. I will cherish your teachings, and I give you my word that I will continue to make you proud of me each and every day for the rest of my life. You left me a legacy to celebrate, uphold, and be proud of. You are where you belong. You are surrounded by Dad and our close family. Now you can rest in peace. Amen.