Three decades ago, pregnant and new to Wisconsin, I injured my back. My spouse away, I was grateful for the friends who broke into our house to take care of our toddler and call for an ambulance.

The very next day, Mom flew in from Maine to take care of things while I got back on my feet (literally), and then break me out of the hospital, driving me home in the way back of the minivan to a first floor hospital bed she had procured.

That was Mom’s love: she showed up at the drop of a hat, wherever, whenever, and got the job done.

A year ago, record-breaking weather hit the home in Maine where we’d cared for Mom during her last stretch, in a first floor hospital bed we had procured. I wrote about that journey in Living Is for Living — Mom’s words when I asked for her two cents when Alzheimer’s disease made her health care tricky.

The historic storms and hefty clean-up were a wake-up call. Until then, my spouse and I had assigned what’s next? to the future. Suddenly, it was crystal clear it was time for us to consider our next steps.

In the midst of this, I flew to Wisconsin to be a good grandma and dog sit, a welcome distraction from wild weather stress. Waiting for the plane to de-ice on my homeward trek, I reflected on my attachment to the house we’d so lovingly renovated, which had brought me back to Maine after twenty-five years away. I loved our last chapter living there, with Mom, my husband, our adult kids, friends and pets. It was hard to fathom leaving it, even though Mom and several of the pets had passed on, and the kids had since fanned out far away.

With a heavy heart, I googled “how to let go of a house when you are emotionally attached.” There were lots of good ideas I’d try in the coming year, and I realized it was possible to love a home and its story the way I did and still move on. I just needed to trust that the next chapter could be awesome too.

Just then I looked up to spot, two seats ahead, a baseball cap that read October 15, 1997.

While 1997 didn’t strike a chord, October 15 did. That’s the day Mom had died, in our beloved seaside home, me and the animals at her side.

All of a sudden, I knew without doubt, that Mom was with me, and that she’d continue to be with me, wherever I am and wherever I go.

I don’t need a certain house to keep her close.

That is Mom’s love: it isn’t limited to time or place, it’s with me wherever I am, wherever I go.

Mom’s “Living Is for Living” is all I need to keep her near. This reminder’s helped me through challenges I’ve encountered since, wrapping up the last chapter and turning toward the next, this one yet to be written.

Here’s to a Mom’s love, unlimited — Happy Mother’s Day!