Another Mother's Day...Without My Child

My words carry the weight of thousands of unspoken cries.

Another Mother's Day.

Another year where the ache in my chest isn't soothed by flowers, cards, or even a two-hour prison visit.

They say, “At least your child is alive.”

And while I understand the heart behind the words, they often land like stones—cold and heavy.

Yes, he’s alive. But he’s not here.

Not at the table.

Not calling me just to say, "Happy Mother's Day, Ma."

Not wrapping his arms around me.

He’s locked behind concrete walls and metal doors—

and every bar is a barrier between us and the life I once dreamed for him.

I am a mother.

I gave birth, raised, nurtured, and believed.

And yet, I live with a sentence too.

One that is unseen. One that is unheard.

But I carry it in my spirit, in my bones, every single day.

It shows up in the quiet moments.

It screams in my prayers.

It bleeds through my smile.

There are many of us.

Mothers who dress up on Mother’s Day but wear grief underneath.

Mothers who sit in pews or on porches or in visiting rooms with hope in one hand and heartbreak in the other.

Mothers who wait. And wait. And wait.

For freedom.

For justice.

For restoration.

If you are a mother facing another Mother's Day with a child behind bars, know this:

Your love still reaches them.

Your tears are seen by a God who keeps count of every drop.

You are not alone.

We are a sisterhood of the unseen,

The unheard,

But never unloved.

This Mother's Day, I honor you.

I honor us.

Even when the world does not understand our pain,

We hold each other up with the strength only a mother can know.

Jamesina Greene

A Mother's Cry

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