You don’t know her name. 

Anna Jarvis founded Mother’s Day in the United States to honor her mother’s wish for a day recognizing the sacrifices of mothers. After her mother’s death in 1905, Ms. Jarvis led a national campaign for the holiday. Her efforts gained traction and, in 1914, Woodrow Wilson signed a proclamation designating the second Sunday in May as Mother’s Day. 

Ironically, Ms. Jarvis later became disillusioned by the commercialization of the holiday and spent her later years regretting its creation because of the immense commercial focus surrounding it. 

Today, her story is not told in greeting card commercials or advertisements for brunches and gifts. 

As a little girl, my own family’s Mother’s Day celebration revolved around church. I vividly remember Mother’s Day as the one day each year I got to wear a fresh flower. There was a tradition: those whose mothers were still living wore red flowers — in my case, a red carnation. Those whose mothers had passed away wore white flowers. 

My mother wore the latter. Her own mother had died when my mom was still a little girl. 

What commercialization and picture-perfect Mother’s Day promotions often overlook is that motherhood is one of the hardest human endeavors. The cards don’t depict the toil and struggle, the sleepless nights, the prayers, the sacrifices, or the tears. 

In 2025, I experienced my first Mother’s Day after my mother’s death. I can no longer wear a red flower. I now join the many who quietly wear white flowers because their mothers have passed away. 

So, this Mother’s Day, perhaps we can celebrate the real picture of motherhood — with all its bumps, bruises, sacrifices, prayers, exhaustion, love, and yes… tears. We need more honest conversations about motherhood — the kind rooted not in performance, but in sacrifice, resilience, tenderness, and survival. 

In my work at Primo Center, I have the privilege of encountering mothers every day whose love for their children persists despite homelessness, instability, trauma, poverty, and unimaginable hardship. I have watched mothers skip meals so their children can eat. I have watched them soothe frightened children while carrying burdens no one should have to bear alone. I have watched them continue to fight for their families while exhausted, grieving, and uncertain about tomorrow. 

Those mothers may never appear in glossy Mother’s Day advertisements. But they embody the very spirit this holiday was meant to honor. 

Maybe that is what both the red flower and the white flower have always represented: love that costs something — and mothers worthy of being honored not for perfection, but for perseverance.