For nine months you and I were inseparable. Our bodies and souls intertwined.

Your life began its long journey as you grew inside me. And as you grew, so did my profound new sense of purpose. A mother’s purpose.

On that wondrous day you were born, you left everything you knew behind. You entered this unfamiliar, bright new world and cried out; desperately searching for a familiar voice and a comforting touch. You quickly found your way to my loving embrace.

It didn’t matter that you were no longer inside me. You and I were still inseparable as I attended to your every need. Despite the immense work and challenges of caring for an infant, I cherished each tender embrace. Our souls were still indelibly intertwined.

As the days, weeks, and months passed, I reverently watched as you learned to navigate and adapt to your new world. I supported you with all of my love. In times of uncertainty, fear, or hurt, I whispered encouragement in your ear as I kissed away your tears.

Years passed. Although you gained independence as each new day and adventure unfolded, we still shared an unbreakable bond. No matter how far apart we found ourselves.

The strength of our bond faced its ultimate test on the day you died. A day I never expected to happen in my lifetime.

On the horrifying day you died, I left behind everything I knew about this bright world. I was transported into a darkness that was so intense and thick, it blocked out any trace of light.

I cried out, desperately searching for your familiar voice and loving embrace. But there was no trace of you. You were completely gone. I couldn’t understand how, but it felt as if our unbreakable bond had been severed.

Without you, I struggled to survive in this cold, dark, unforgiving new world. Despite family and friends at my side, I could feel no reason for living. Overwhelmed by unbearable pain, there were no signs of hope. I felt as though I wanted to die so I could be with you again.

But I did not die.

Like those early days, weeks, and months of your life, I was forced to learn how to navigate and adapt to this new world of mine. However, this time, you were not at my side. I ached to once again feel your touch, hear your voice, and feel at ease in your reassuring presence.

My eyes slowly began to adjust to this world. While I was no longer in the midst of complete darkness, this new world had no color; no brightness. Everything was dim and gray. All I saw was a horizon of endless pain and suffering.

I longed to feel our bond restored, but I feared it was irrevocably severed. You were constantly on my mind, but those thoughts brought no comfort; no bond. For they were thoughts of your death and my failure to keep you safe. I could think of nothing but all that I lost and would never get back.

Over time, I began to notice little things that gave me pause. Things that reminded me of you; reminded me of your beautiful life instead of your tragic death.

In the beginning, they appeared when I was suffering intensely and longing for your presence. I needed some sort of reassurance that it wouldn’t always feel this way. With each occurrence, I began to feel your presence once again.

I felt our bond beginning to be restored. It felt different than before, but the bond was still just as strong. Each small sign from you felt like a warm embrace and whisper of love as you comforted and guided me.

My anguished thoughts of your death were being replaced by loving memories of your life. Your vibrant joy that filled those memories began to add brightness and color to this new world of mine.

Though many years have passed since you died, you are still in my thoughts each and every day. I still see special signs that remind me of you, but not as often before. That’s because I don’t need them as much anymore. For I have learned to feel our bond just as strongly as I did when you were alive.

These days, signs from you usually come in flurries ahead of emotionally challenging days where your physical presence is especially missed. Days like your birthday or holidays such as Mother’s Day.

And while I would love to return to the world in which you and I were physically inseparable, I know without a doubt that our souls are still indelibly intertwined in this one.

I’ve never been a big fan of Mother’s Day.

I grew up in a household where my own mother thought Mother’s Day was a racket created by Hallmark and the retail industry to sell more products. She taught me from an early age that you should show love and appreciation every day – not just reserve it for one day out of the year. She preferred hand-made cards over store-bought, and she preferred hand-made presents and quality time with us over bouquets of flowers, jewelry, or store-bought gifts.

When I became a mother myself, I was often embarrassed at the fuss others would make over me on Mother’s Day.

While I appreciated the presents and acknowledgement of my success as a mother, I too believed that you should strive to show love and appreciation every day rather than one day out of the year.

But in 2010, my view of Mother’s Day completely changed. Instead of seeing it as an unnecessary excuse to sell products, it became a day I downright detested the thought of. It was the first Mother’s Day after the drowning death of my 4-year-old daughter the previous fall.

Mother’s Day was now a horrible, impossibly painful reminder that one of my children – one of my reasons for being – was no longer with me.

I remember telling my husband that year that I wanted no celebration. No presents. No acknowledgement of what day it was. The mere thought of it brought tears to my eyes and a sick feeling in my stomach. There was nothing to celebrate. How could there be?

Mother’s Day was now like a big scarlet letter on my chest showing what a horrible mother I was. I felt as if I had failed as a mother by failing to keep my child safe. I had lied to her all the times I had told her, “Mommy will never let anything happen to you.”

For any mother who has lost a child – and for that matter, anyone who has lost their mom – Mother’s Day is not a day of celebration, but of sadness.

The reminder of what you have lost overshadows the memories of what you once had. It doesn’t help that in the U.S., Mother’s Day is one of the most heavily advertised “holidays” behind Christmas. You can’t escape it. Reminders are EVERYWHERE.

Time has softened my feelings of failure as a mother. I have accepted that what happened to my daughter was a tragic accident. And I know that most of the time, the actions and activities that happened on that fateful day do not end in death. I understand that it is unreasonable to think I can be with my children 24 hours a day protecting them from every threat. And I definitely know now that certain things are simply not in my control.

Still, if I had my way, I’d prefer to avoid Mother’s Day altogether. It has become a day for my children, not for me.

It is a day for them to follow the societal norm and show that they appreciate and love me. I will appreciate whatever they choose to do or give to me, but it will never again be a truly happy day for me. It will forever be a reminder that one of my children is missing from the celebration. The only thing that could ever change my mind about Mother’s Day is to have all five of my children with me on that day.

But, of course, that will never happen.