Mother's Day - 2026

On an ongoing basis—and especially this weekend—I find myself pausing to say a prayer for mothers everywhere. Motherhood is a gift we’re given for a reason. Some of us feel that truth from day one, some discover it along the way, and some may never fully believe it. None of us will ever be perfect in this role, no matter how hard we try. What I’ve learned over the past thirty‑two years is that what matters most is that we keep trying. Every day. Get up, try again, and keep going. Honestly, that applies to more than parenting; it’s the essence of “adulting” too.

Before I met my husband, I was a single parent, and I worried about EV‑ER‑Y‑THING. I didn’t realize then that I was developing my own unique approach to motherhood. There were many moments when I felt like a failure, but I was blessed with the strength to stand back up each time. I found my rhythm, and slowly, I began to trust that I would be okay. I was surrounded by loving, steady women—my mother, my sister, and a few close friends—who nudged me forward with their wisdom, faith, and unwavering support.

Over the years, I’ve learned the importance of loosening my grip and allowing my son the freedom to walk his own path. I am so proud of the man he has become—his choices, his circle of people, his good heart, his gentle nature, and the way he makes me and others laugh.

In 2011, at the start of his senior year, my son was in a terrible car accident. The hospital staff weren’t sure he would survive. The man who found him at the scene couldn’t understand how he had. His seat belt cut his neck, and he suffered a traumatic brain injury, a broken collarbone, a fractured pelvis, and a collapsed lung. A stent was placed in his neck to restore blood flow to his brain. He couldn’t walk for three months. But by early 2012, he was back on his feet—participating in senior year activities and walking across the stage to receive his diploma. I will never forget that moment.

The team at the Barbara Bush Children’s Hospital in Portland, Maine, cared for him with extraordinary skill and compassion. I stayed by his side around the clock. I have never prayed so hard in my life. I felt helpless, relying on others to save the person I love most in this world. The thought of life without him was unbearable. Fifteen years later, I remain profoundly grateful for every extra day I’ve been given with him. Our bond is unshakeable. We’ve always had each other’s backs.

Today, I pray that every mother reading this gives herself a little grace. Take the lessons you’ve learned, breathe, and move forward with hope. Some mothers are missing their children today. Some are meeting their child for the first time. Some are gathering around a table with family, creating new memories. Some have reached the “grand” stage of motherhood, discovering a whole new world of tiny miracles waiting to bloom.

My own mother is living with dementia now. She no longer recognizes her children or grandchildren, but somewhere deep inside, she still knows us. She has never stopped loving us. We visit often, and although conversations are harder, we treasure every moment. The staff where she lives understands how important music has always been to her. She still sings and dances every day—and she gets the staff to join in. She is adorable, and she brings joy to everyone around her.

This weekend, I’ll spend time with my mom, my son, my husband, and the rest of my family. I can’t imagine being anywhere else. I’m proud to walk the same path my mother and sister walked before me, stepping into motherhood with courage and love. These moments—these people—are the sparks that keep the flame of life burning bright.

From the heart,

Rae