When Mother’s Day Feels Tender

Happy Tuesday, my dear family and friends.

I hope this post finds you well. It’s Cinco de Mayo today — any plans? Maybe a taco or two with a cold beer, or perhaps a margarita? Or maybe you’re like me and will be enjoying a simple iced tea. Whatever your taste buds are craving, I hope you enjoy it.

We’re on Letter Two of this 7‑day motherhood series across all my platforms, but this space — right here — holds an extra special place in my heart. It’s where I began. My blogs aren’t just words; they’re pieces of me. Through every post and every interaction, we’ve formed friendships and bonds that only grow in a space like this.

Here at Love Life with Dawna, I share my heart with you — and many of you share yours right back. I don’t take that lightly. I honor this space, and I honor you. Thank you for being here and supporting my journey into writing.

Today’s post is a tender one. It’s meant to speak to the hearts of mothers who have lost a child. With Mother’s Day approaching, this letter felt deeply important to write.

Sometimes, especially around holidays, those who are grieving slowly slip into the shadows — wanting to be remembered, needing to be held in thought — but knowing life moves forward for everyone else. Not out of neglect, but simply because life keeps happening. Still, the ache remains.

My hope is to speak directly to the mother whose heart carries that loss… and also to gently remind the rest of us to check in on the mothers who may be hurting quietly, especially this time of year.

For the mother who lost a child…

Some letters ask us to slow down before we even begin. This one did that to me.

I wrote it with a lump in my throat and a reverence I can’t quite name — the kind that rises when love and grief sit in the same room.

If you are a mother who carries a name the world no longer speaks aloud… If you measure time in befores and afters… If your love didn’t end, it simply changed shape…

I want you to know: You are a mother. Still. Always. Forever.

I wrote a full sanctuary‑style letter for you — or for someone you love — and it’s waiting with open hands.

🦋 Read the full letter here: Letter Two: For the Mother Who Lost a Child https://lovelifewithdawna.substack.com/p/letter-two-for-the-mother-who-lost?r=8ad3ia

I want to honor all moms — those who carried a child in their womb, and those who stepped in and loved a child as their own. When we love a child, in any form, we hold a sacred place in their hearts. Always.

I’ve never lost a child, and I pray I leave this earth before my children do. That feels like the natural order of things. But I have lost my dad, and that pain still has a room inside me. I miss him every day. Even so, I know the grief of a mother losing her child is something deeper, something only she can truly understand — the one who felt that heartbeat from the inside.

Today, I wrote one of the hardest letters I’ve ever written. I cried when I reread it, thinking of my dear friend who lost her adult daughter two years ago — the night before Mother’s Day. A child is always our little boy or girl, no matter their age. For her, this time of year is especially tender.

If you know someone in that space, maybe including them in your Mother’s Day could be the greatest act of kindness. Sometimes a mother simply doesn’t want to face the day alone.

For me this year, something inside said, just be with your children. A simple day at home — a BBQ, laughter, games. That’s what my heart needs.

My own mother hasn’t spoken to me in nearly ten years. Religion separated us. But John is blessed to still have his mom, and I fully support him spending the day with her — for him, for Grant, and for Mina, who holds such a special place in Grant’s heart. She deserves that time, and so does he.

I’ll miss being with them on Mother’s Day, but I’m grateful we’ll have a tea together next week. A second chance to sit, talk, and be together — Mina, Amy, John’s sister and of course, Megan too.

I hope you’ll find your way over to my Substack to read the full letter. That’s where I write these sanctuary‑style pieces. But I want to thank you for being here, in this space that started it all.

Hug your children. Call your adult kiddos. Reach out to a mom who may be struggling. You never know how far your thoughtfulness might carry her.

Thank you for being here.

Until next time, don’t forget…

Love Life++ Hugs,

Dawna‑Rae 🦋 may your heart return to itself again and again