All My Mothers
written by Jessica Patay
When you lose your mother, it feels as though the very foundation of your life has been shaken. My mother died of lung cancer when I was 34. Yet, I truly feel I lost her when I was only 24 and was barely out of college.
On July 5th, 1994, the day after fun and festivities tied to July 4th, I received a scary phone call. The fire department was on the phone and told me my mother suffered a mini stroke and called 911 for help. This set her, and her five grown children, on a long path of surgeries, recoveries, ER visits, and additional diagnoses.
It began our journey as “parents” to my mother. Parenting her was how I labeled this dramatic change in familial roles. As I reflect now, it was my first bout of caregiving although I really did not know that word back then. Ten years later my mom was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, and we lost her just three months after that.
My mother was the first woman to love me unconditionally. She was the first to teach me what it means to nurture, guide, and support others. When that presence was gone, a void was created that has been difficult to fill. I barely had a mother when I began motherhood. Luke was 3 1/2 years old, and Ryan was just one that summer she disappeared so quickly from our lives.
In the aftermath of such a loss, one of the most profound and beautiful sources of strength can come from the community of women who surround you. These women—whether by blood, friendship, serendipity, or a child’s diagnosis—step in. In doing so, they offer a kind of organic, living, and nourishing mentorship that can help to rebuild and even redefine your sense of self.
A community of women provides an invaluable network of love, wisdom, and resilience. When your own mother is no longer there to lean on, the women around you, including friends, sisters, aunts, grandmothers, stepmothers, mentors, or even strangers—become your new pillars. Their presence is often gentle but unwavering, as they create a safe space for you to process grief, to share memories, and to seek guidance. This community does not merely act as a replacement for what you have lost, but instead, it nurtures a new kind of sisterhood that is uniquely powerful.
What makes this support system so special is its organic nature. It is not forced or planned. It grows naturally as these women invest in you, offering not just advice, but compassion and understanding rooted in shared experience. They may not replace your mother, but they fill a different kind of role—one that reminds you that the love and wisdom a mother imparts can live on through others. It does live on through others.
Trust me, I have experienced this time and again. For example, I connected with this woman across the country over Instagram. She was a mother who had lost her disabled son. She was an author, a poet, a beautiful soul. She reached out to me because a wedding was bringing her to Northern California. I WAS DRAWN TO MEET HER IN PERSON. She was too young to be my mother, more like an older sister, and definitely… a SOUL FRIEND.
My daughter Kate and I decided to make a road trip out of it, and we drove to Calistoga for the weekend that July. My sweet friend, Karen Draper and I met for breakfast. Three hours went by in what felt like a minute, and we had to part. It filled my heart; it reached into the mother hunger I feel and satiated it so powerfully. I still radiate the love and connection to this day.
The brave women in this network of WABT share a part of the feminine experience. This collective knowledge can provide a sense of healing and belonging that is often more profound than any single voice could offer. I believe a sense of belonging is our birthright, and it is why I am personally so passionate about the power of community.
I want to add that the mentorship that comes from these women, who are all my mothers, so to speak, is not one-size-fits-all. It is as diverse as the women themselves, shaped by different backgrounds, perspectives, and life lessons. Some women may guide us through practical matters. This might include helping us navigate parenting, social services, career, finances, or funky family dynamics. Others may offer emotional support, giving you the space to express grief or joy—without judgment. Then there are those who nurture your soul, reminding you of your worth, your strength, and your potential. This mentorship is fluid and dynamic, often shifting with our needs as we evolve.
In a sense, when you’ve lost your mother, you are blessed with an entire tribe of women who are there to support you, to offer wisdom, love, and to help you grow.
The beauty of this community lies in its abundance. It is as if you have 100 mothers, or thousands of mothers, as in We Are Brave Together, each offering a different aspect of love, care, and guidance. They become the mirrors that reflect your beauty, strength, and potential, especially when you may not be able to see it in yourself. These women weave a tapestry of support around you, allowing you to lean into the collective energy of those who truly understand what it means to be a woman. And what it truly means to advocate and love amidst altered motherhood.
In times of hardship, especially after losing your mother, a network of women becomes a lifeline. They not only help to fill the emptiness left by your loss but also inspire you to carry forward the lessons and love you received. What all my mothers endlessly provide to me is priceless: ongoing wisdom, mentoring, a safety net, and nurturing love. They simply remind me, and remind me often, that I am not alone. That I belong to a beautiful mosaic of human resilience, fortitude, radiance, and strength.
