Last year on Mother’s Day, I told my husband I hoped to be a mom by the next Mother’s Day. We had just started trying to conceive our first baby and had no idea what the next year of our lives would look like. I was pregnant by the end of July. My dream to be a mom by this Mother’s Day came true, but it looks much different than the way I planned.

I was supposed to be freshly postpartum as my due date was April 10th, almost exactly a month before Mother’s Day. When I first realized this, I remember feeling so excited at the thought of soaking in newborn snuggles on my first Mother’s Day as a mom. Instead, my arms are empty and my home is silent. While other mothers jokingly (or maybe they are serious) wish for a moment of quiet alone time for Mother’s Day, I long for a cry I never got to hear.

I am a mother. This affirmation took me a while to understand, but I am. I became a mother the moment I knew my baby existed. I sat in ultrasound rooms watching my tiny baby bounce around the screen. I picked out names, clothes, and nursery themes. I loved more fiercely than I ever thought possible. And then, my baby died before ever taking a breath in this world. My body has carried life, and it has carried death. I am a mother, and I still mother my child even though he is not alive.

I mother him when I speak his name, even if it makes other people uncomfortable. I mother when I cry for the baby boy I never got to see grow into a man. I mother when I place my hand on my belly because sometimes, the phantom kicks are all too real. I mother when I plant carnations in my garden as a tribute to my son. I mother when I wear my ring made of my breastmilk and his ashes. I mother when I spend hours looking at his photos and hospital keepsakes because they are all I have. I mother through grief, love, and remembrance.

I don’t expect gifts or cards or anything grand for Mother’s Day. All I want and need is acknowledgment from both others and myself. Waking up every day and facing this life without the baby who made me a mom is the fiercest act of mothering I’ve ever done, and it deserves to be honored.

To all the mothers who love children they cannot hold: I see you. I honor you. I walk beside you. On this quiet day, know that you are, and always will be, a mother.