Last Mother’s Day, before he married my amazing daughter-in-law, Kat, my son Nathan called. The conversation was pleasant enough, but I couldn’t help noticing the stiffness in his voice. You know that sound — the one that says, “I’m only calling because it’s Mother’s Day, and I’m supposed to.”
Now, don’t get me wrong. I appreciated the call. I appreciate every call, every text, every “thinking of you” moment, whether it’s the second Sunday in May or a random Wednesday afternoon. But something about the way his voice tightened around the words “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom” got me thinking:
When did celebrating our mothers become more of an obligation than a genuine connection?
Like so many traditions, Mother’s Day starts with good intentions. A card, a phone call, a bunch of flowers — all symbols of gratitude and love. But when the calendar tells us it’s time to celebrate, are we showing love... or are we just checking a box?
The truth is, the best conversations I’ve ever had with my kids didn’t come with a date on the calendar attached. They came on ordinary days — days when the sun was shining, or even when the rain made the world feel small and cozy. They came after a long drive, over a half-eaten sandwich, or while folding laundry. Those were the moments when my sons weren’t calling because they had to. They were calling because they wanted to.
And that, my dear readers, is the real gift.
Of course, we moms understand busy schedules and full plates. Life happens. But I’d trade a dozen Mother’s Day bouquets for one unexpected, ordinary conversation. The kind where the voice on the other end says, “Hey Mom, I was thinking about you,” without the help of a Hallmark reminder.
So here’s my Mother’s Day wish for all of us — whether you’re the one picking up the phone, or the one waiting for it to ring: let’s remember that love isn’t measured in holidays. It’s measured in the small, everyday connections. The ones that say, “I thought about you today, and that was enough.”
Who knows? Maybe next year, Nathan’s call will catch me off guard on a random Tuesday, with no stiff voice and no card store deadline. Just two people who miss each other, talking about nothing in particular. Now that’s the kind of Mother’s Day I’d celebrate all year long.
Jann Goar Franklin graduated Russellville High School in 1985 and lives in Grand Cane, Louisiana. She also writes books, which are for sale at The Village Loft in downtown Grand Cane. You can learn more about her at www.jannfranklin.com, or reach her at jann@jannfranklin.com.