A Quilt, A Graduation, and an Unexpected Grief on Mother’s Day

This Mother's Day brought a moment I will cherish for the rest of my life: my son graduated from college. As he walked across the stage and received his diploma, I stood nearby holding a star quilt—a sacred tradition in our Native American heritage. When he stepped down, I had the honor of wrapping him in that quilt, arms steady despite the emotions swelling in my chest. In that gesture, I felt the spirit of my mother—his Nana—surrounding him too. I imagined her pride, her warmth, her love folding around him with mine. That quilt wasn’t just fabric. It was generations of love. A symbol of resilience, heritage, and hope.

I should have let that moment carry me through the rest of the day. But life has a way of blending joy and sorrow in the same breath, doesn’t it?

Later that day, we headed to a party to celebrate. All of my children were there, which made me so happy. When we had first arrived, I told everyone that I had lost my wallet at the graduation, and was very concerned. I called the event location and left a message. Then everyone sat down to eat. And I didn't have any money. And everyone knew that.

At first, I didn’t want to say anything. I figured I could sit quietly and just enjoy being with everyone. But as everyone began to order food and I couldn’t, I started to feel out of place. I waited for one of my kids my sister, to notice, to offer help, even just to ask. No one did.

And there I sat, on Mother’s Day, surrounded by my children, feeling invisible.

It was a strange, aching contrast to the morning’s joy. I felt embarrassment creeping in. Then sadness. Then something deeper—an old, familiar kind of pain. I quietly slipped out before the tears could surface.

I’ve thought about that moment a lot in the days since.

I remember my own mother sometimes getting upset on Mother’s Day when she didn’t receive a card or a call or a small gift. I used to think she was being overly sentimental. But now, I understand. It’s not about presents. It’s about presence. It’s about feeling seen, remembered, valued.

Motherhood asks so much of us. Our bodies. Our time. Our sleep. Our hearts. And we give it willingly. But on days like Mother’s Day, we hope—just a little—that someone will look at us and say, “I see you. I remember all that you’ve done. You matter to me.”

That didn’t happen for me this year. And it hurt.

But still—my son graduated. I won’t let that be overshadowed. That is a gift, a triumph, a light. It means something enormous. And I’ll hold onto that joy with both hands.

Still, I share this story not to cast blame or guilt. I share it because I think many mothers—many people—know what it feels like to hold both pride and pain in the same day. To smile through an ache. To wonder if you’re appreciated.

If you're reading this and you've felt that ache too, I see you.

If you're a child with a mother still here, maybe this is your reminder to reach out, ask, offer, notice.

And if you're missing your own mother, like I was that day—know that her love is still wrapped around you, just like that star quilt around my son. Sometimes invisible. But always, always there.

As Always, Sending Good Vibes!

Naazh