Just one week before Mother’s Day, a close friend’s mother died unexpectedly.

The timing was especially sad, because five generations were eagerly looking forward to celebrating together and capturing keepsake photos.

I still remember the first Mother’s Day after my mom passed away 11 years ago. The chocolates, flowers, cards and gifts awaited someone else’s mother that year.

I felt sad, and I am hardly alone. Seeing all the ads for Mother’s Day promotions just makes us miss our moms even more.

Even my mother, when she was well into her 80s, told of still missing her own mother. “She had eight kids to take care of but was never too busy to listen to us or help us if we needed help,” my mother wrote in a notebook of random memories. “She kept the family going.”

A friend whose mother died more than 20 years ago says her mom played a similar role. “She kept everybody in touch. She was the communicator in the family. She was the glue,” my friend explained.

A male friend in his late 80s remembers his mother’s trust. “She didn’t hover over me, even though I was an only child. She told me to go out and play and come back by supper time,” he recalls, lamenting the “helicopter parents” he sees today who give their kids little freedom.

Several people I know who lost their mothers report still talking to their dear moms in different ways.

One gazes at the night sky and talks to her through the stars.

Another speaks to her mother’s framed photograph.

A third friend talks to her mom while driving alone in her car.

All these folks believe their communications are somehow reaching their mothers. I hope they are right.

But just to play it safe, everyone who still has a flesh and blood mother might want to do the talking now, while she definitely can hear and savor those special words. However it is accomplished, communicating is more difficult when a loved one is gone from this earth.

I remember telling my mom over the years that my love of nature could be attributed to her passion for the outdoors.

During many long walks out in the country with the four of us kids, my mom introduced us to various trees and leaves and birds and wildlife. Decades later, all of us remain nature lovers.

Although I did not realize it in my early childhood, I believe my love of writing was in my blood. As early as second grade I declared I wanted to be a writer when I grew up, and I never wavered from my intention.

Only much later did I learn that my mom often expressed herself through writing poetry. I create poems, too, but most of my writing takes a different form. Still, remarkably, my mother and I shared the written word as our creative outlet.

When she would comment on one of my newspaper pieces, I’m glad I told her where my inspiration came from.

I wish I could tell her more. I often think of picking up the phone to relate a funny experience to her. Then I remember.

How much better to celebrate our mothers while they are still with us. Once they are gone, no matter how old we are, we will feel lost.

My mom understood this perfectly. In her notebook of memories, I came across this telling entry: “I loved my mother and to today I miss her. I don’t think anyone ever gets completely over the loss of their mother.” Well said, Mom.