This Mother’s Day, I want to speak from the tenderest place in my heart. A place shaped by deep love, deep loss, and an even deeper strength I never knew I had. Over the past couple of years, I’ve said goodbye to three of the most important people in my life—my mother, my brother, and just four months ago, my father. 

They didn’t disappear. They moved to heaven. And while I know they are held in love and light, my heart has felt their absence every single day. During my father’s final year, I found myself clinging to every moment. I tried to save it all—his smile, the sound of his voice, the way he looked at me when words weren’t needed. I knew he was preparing to go, even though none of us could know when. And while walking through that sacred time, I was still being a mother. A wife. A woman with responsibilities and people who needed me. There were days I moved through life in a blur—aching, exhausted, and overwhelmed—but still showing up.

Because I had to. Because my children still needed my love. And in many ways, they saved me. Their laughter, their presence, their need for me—it anchored me when I felt like I might float away in my grief. I want to be honest: taking care of yourself when you’re barely holding on feels impossible. But somehow, in the thick of heartache, I discovered a strength that didn’t come from me alone. It was quiet. Unreasonable. Unimaginable. It came from God. 

So today, I don’t just want to celebrate mothers. I want to honor every woman who keeps going while her heart is breaking. Every mother, every sister, every soul who wakes up, gives love, pours herself into others—and often forgets herself along the way.

Today more than anything, I want to remind you—before you were anything to anyone, you were a little girl.

And she still lives inside you.

She still needs softness. Still needs rest. Still longs to hear: You matter. You’re enough. You deserve care, too.

This Mother’s Day, I see you.
I honor your pain, your courage, your quiet miracles.
Your love is your legacy.
And your strength—yes, even now—is holy.

With all my heart,

Eve