I have labeled myself a “motherless daughter” for more years than I care to count. Losing my mother at 25 has shaped my life in so many ways, longing still for her presence, the warmth of her arms around me, the chance to ask a question or share my feelings, the wish that my children could have known the special human being that she was.

My mother was kindness and softness. I cannot remember a time that she was angry with me although I can remember that I, always mercurial, did not hesitate to inflict my anger on her. Long after she died, I opened a drawer in her dresser and found, in addition to Mother’s Day and birthday cards, a lot of notes of apology that I had written her—at all ages—for a variety of offenses. She never failed to support me, was never too busy to listen and, even when she was dying and knew it, was more concerned about my feelings than her own.

As a mother, I know that my approach to being a parent is far different than her was, for good or for ill. I am certain that my sons would tell you that I have rarely withheld my opinion, either in words or the expression on my face. I hope that they would also say that I have supported them, occasionally challenged them and have tried hard to balance being a mother and having a demanding career. Were there times when I disappointed them? I know that there were. But I believe that they know that I would do anything for them and, now, for their families as well.

During the week in Israel that we finished last night, I thought, more than once, about mothers and mothering. I thought about the mothers in the besieged kibbutzim on October 7 who gave up their lives in an effort to save their children. I thought about the mothers who have erected memorials to their children at the site of the Nova music festival, young lives cut senselessly and brutally short. I thought about the many mothers who ache for their children who remain hostages, their fate uncertain. And the many other mothers who pray continuously for the safety of their children in military service in a country that is deep into a war it did not create.

There are elements of being a mother that are the easy ones. Holding your child, wiping their tears, cheering them on, helping them through life’s obstacles, these are the parts that feel natural, that are challenging but not overwhelming. But when circumstances thrust us into a situation where we cannot protect, cannot save, cannot intervene, when all the love in the world cannot keep our child from harm, that is where we ache, that is where mothers—no matter who we are or where we are from—feel a shared pain.

On this Mother’s Day I pray for a world of peace, for a world in which our children can live without fear, for the chance for all of us to want nothing more than to fill our full hearts.