On Mother’s Night, the night before the Winter Solstice, I offer the gift of presence to those who gave me life and shaped the stories I carry. I honor our maternal ancestors—not just for who they were, but for the moments that made them unforgettable, the threads of their lives that still weave through ours.
I think of my grandmother, a thespian with a flair for storytelling. Her voice, rich and expressive, brought her youth to life: adventures in the 60s and 70s, laughter with her cousin Jamie and Jamie’s husband Frank. Her stories were worlds I excitedly stepped into, captivated by her words and the sparkle in her eyes as she relived them. Though she is gone, her presence lingers when I replay those stories in my mind, each one a vivid reminder of who she was.
And my mother—so much like my grandmother, yet entirely her own. Her presence was in the moments she created, the way she turned the ordinary into something extraordinary. I’ll never forget her menorah, crafted from an egg carton and candles, even though we weren’t Jewish. She forgot to blow out the candles and almost burned the house down. It was scary at that time, but now I can’t help but laugh. This story brings her back to me, her creativity and humor shining through.
On this night, I sit with their stories, offering them my undivided presence once more. By remembering, I keep them alive. Their voices, their laughter, their love—they echo through the present, connecting me to the past.
Mother’s Night reminds us that presence is timeless. Though they may no longer walk beside us, our ancestors are never truly gone. As long as we tell their stories and honor their lives, they remain with us, woven into the fabric of who we are.
~Candice Carver
