Every year on the morning of Mother’s Day, I cry.

On this special day, I’m greeted with a huge dimpled smile from our daughter Dempsey, who sneaks into our room, usually with a present she has made for me, hidden behind her back.  The moment tugs at my heart strings, and I cry.

I cry at how lucky I am to have her in my life, and I cry that our other daughter, Savannah, who would be ten years old, isn’t with her sister, giving me a huge hug too and climbing into bed beside us.

If I go to the supermarket, I cry.  So, I’ve learned to stay away from the stores where people are queued at the checkout with colorful bunches of cheerful flowers, boxes of chocolates and cards for their mothers.

I cry when I think of my sisters’ four children, because they don’t have their mom to spoil.  And I cry when I think of their dad, Tony, who struggles on Mother’s Day because his wife is missing out.

I cry when I remember past Mother’s Days when I could simply pick up the phone and call my adored mom and tell her how much I love her.  And then I remember my mother’s words, her Mother’s Day gift to me that can never be taken away – and I find myself smiling!

I remember her lessons: to be grateful for the simple things that I’m surrounded with, like love, family, friendships, and the compassion I have for others who are struggling to survive through their Mother’s Day without their loved ones.

My mother celebrated every day she was alive with enthusiasm and gratitude for everything we are blessed with.  Like days when the sun streams in through your window or the smell of fresh jasmine.  She taught me attitude drives destiny, so I try each Mother’s Day to channel her positive outlook into my day.

It’s difficult not to have a pity party on Mother’s Day, but I find by lunchtime the day gets easier. I put on something pretty, try to put a smile on my face and embrace the irresistible love my daughter showers on me and be thankful that I’ve survived another hard day the best way I could.

Down the street from our house are cherry blossoms trees, which are in full bloom this time of year.  They were my mom’s favorite, a small reminder of her I carry with me.  I purposely drive by them, think of her and know she would be proud that I’m trying to pass her valuable lessons of appreciation on to my daughter for her future Mother’s Day!

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Diana Doyle

Diana Doyle lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Peter, and her six-year-old daughter Dempsey. Their daughter Savannah was born in 1999. She was diagnosed with Metachromatic Leukodystrophy, which is similar to Lou Gehrig’s disease at the age of two-and-a-half. She died at age four. Since then, Diana has been speaking and writing in hopes of helping others who are dealing with losses of all kinds.

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