Mother’s Day is hard for me, and it’s because I lost my mother, Adrienne Murphy, in 2023 due to stage four Glioblastoma, an aggressive brain cancer. The news came suddenly, and I was utterly unprepared for it.
My mother was my lifeline, confidant, constant support, twin flame (as we’re both Leos), and light in my life—especially during turbulent storms. We had our own language, literally, and more often than not, I didn’t even call her mommy or mother; I preferred to call her Sisi and Sanoot, and she welcomed it because she knew it was a special name for her and something only we shared.
We were best friends and still are, but her death was a blow, especially after seeing the effects of the cancer contort her into someone I didn’t recognize. I remember many days and long nights by her side in the hospital, trying to reassure her that the end wasn’t coming, but I knew it was. Still, I didn’t cry in front of her and remained strong until the end. She needed me to be strong, just as she was for me for many years, so I answered the call.
Before I drove back to Los Angeles from the Bay Area, where I’m from, I whispered to her in her ear and said that she was the best mom because it was and still is true. When I reflect on my childhood, I have fond memories of my mother always being there for me and my friends and encouraging us to be the best we can and never to quit. If I wanted to quit an activity, I would have to finish until the session ended, which taught me to stick with things and not break my word. I learned to show up for myself and others with dignity, even when difficult or inconvenient.
She was an incredibly kind, demure, and soft person, but she didn’t indulge in foolishness or lies. She taught me to have a strong character and never to tell half-truths or become bogged down in delusion. When I was younger, she often said, “Domi, don’t fib. You need to tell me the truth.”
Mommy was and is my best advocate, my greatest protector. I was her only child, and she made it known to everyone how precious I was and how sacred our relationship was. Through her fierce and protective love for me, she taught me how to advocate and speak up for myself, which I had to put into practice more times than I can count after her death. As an only child, petite, young-looking, and kind, people tend to think they can take advantage of you. While some may perceive me as meek, I consider myself an extension of my mother, who was quite the opposite. While she was reserved, that didn’t mean she didn’t have the fire in her to get you together and protect herself and me, which she often did.
As an intuitive person, she taught me to trust my gut and use that skill to guide my decision-making, and it’s been a game-changer in my adult life so far. I learned to trust that if something feels off, it most likely is, and then take action.
Mommy was kind, not nice. She was never spiteful, petty, or held grudges, but she unapologetically protected her energy, and now I do the same. I believe in the power of believing the first time who people show you to be and acting accordingly. Not everyone deserves to be in your close circle and orbit; my mother taught me that through her actions.
Mommy also believed in seeing the world and living her life to the fullest, even if she didn’t have many resources available. As an early working woman on Wall Street who turned into an accountant for a non-profit, trained mediator, business owner, and present mother, she showed me that it’s more than okay to juggle, especially if you’re following your passions or trying to travel the world. She had an indescribable lust for life, which now runs through my veins.
So, I am deciding to honor this difficult holiday differently for my second Mother’s Day without her physically being here. I will focus on celebrating and honoring her memory and cementing and furthering her rich legacy by utilizing all the lessons she imparted to me, as she was truly an Earth angel.
Tips For Reparenting
According to psychotherapist Meghan Watson, reparenting is the intentional practice of giving yourself the steady nurturance, protection, structure, and encouragement you would have received from a loving parent. “After mother loss, reparenting (and mothering ourselves) becomes a way to keep their wisdom alive— by meeting your present-day needs with conscious, consistent, and compassionate action,” she says.
Here are seven ways to reparent yourself after losing your mom:
- Make a “Mom Manual.”
- Jot down her recipes, sayings, or life hacks in one place. When unsure and overwhelmed, open the book and borrow her wisdom on demand.
- Build a comfort kit: Her perfume, that 90s R&B playlist, the cardigan you stole from her closet—sensory shortcuts that say “you’re safe” when grief gets more painful.
- Journal a two-way chat: Left column: Younger-you vents fears. Right column: Inner-mom replies with reassurance, limits, or next steps. Instant upgrade to the self-talk soundtrack.
- Mother, someone else (even a plant counts): Babysit, mentor a junior at work, water your Monstera like an heirloom. Outward nurturing reminds your body you still carry mother energy.
- Schedule fun time, or let it flow at its own pace: Paint, skate, collage—whatever she cheered you on for. Joy is proof you’re still worth delight, not just duty.
- Lean into external “attachment allies,’: A therapist or grief circle offers that steady witnessing while you learn to show up for yourself in the way you need most.
