There should be an organized society for people with dead mothers. A somewhat alienated collective who embrace the fact that there are others like them, where once a year the solidarity of those who have lost their mothers becomes a sanctuary both solemn and celebratory.
Up in arms with friends who have shared the same loss cements a sense of belonging while the rest of the Hallmark world is at brunch with mom. Being without a mother should be recognized as an honor, wistful but triumphant. A moment of quiet understanding should be spent remembering dead mothers after which it should become reverence for the indefatigable strength that is commonly born from suffering.
Losing a mom is a badge of cruel independence that, when properly worn, should yield limitless possibilities and exude the humble beauty that resembles every mother that wishes she was here for her child.