I spend Mother's Day at my son's grave. It's the only place I feel like a whole family.

Courtesy of Susie Shaw

I don't specifically remember my first Mother's Day as a mother, over 16 years ago. But I know it must have been so sweet. My husband probably served me breakfast in bed. My five-month-old son William likely had his breakfast there with me too, nursing himself back to sleep. We probably took a walk in the neighborhood, or maybe we drove over the Bay Bridge from Oakland into San Francisco and walked the Embarcadero, enjoying the spring sunshine of the Bay Area.