What Will You Wish You'd Asked Your Mother?
- May 10
- 5 min read
Written by Taiye Aluko, Relationship Coach
Taiye Aluko helps individuals and couples find purpose in life and happiness in marriage. An excellent encourager, she is passionate about seeing people unlock their personal power and attain the best version of themselves.
When my mother passed, I expected grief. I did not expect discovery. In the weeks after her death, people gathered, neighbours, church members, women from her association, and faces I barely recognised. Each conversation revealed more, she was the neighbour who quietly supported others in hardship. At church, her presence carried genuine authority. She was a decisive leader in her women's group, a confidante, a steadfast friend to people I never knew she loved.
She was so many things to so many people and I, her daughter, had known her as only one. I knew her as Mum. I did not fully see her as a woman and that distinction has quietly reshaped everything I thought I understood about love, presence, and what it means to truly know someone.
The person behind the title
When someone is your parent, it is natural to see them only in their role. Mum or Dad becomes their identity, often erasing their history, dreams, and the parts that existed before you.
I never asked my mother, "What did you dream about when you were young? What broke your heart? What made you proud beyond motherhood?"
I did not ask because I assumed I had time. Honestly, I had not understood she was a full human first and my mother second.
Familiarity can do that. It can make us feel as if we already know someone, when really we only know the version of them that shows up in our own story. We stop being curious. We stop exploring and the person in front of us, complex, layered, full of experiences we have never asked about, quietly remains a stranger in the ways that matter most.
In the days following her funeral, I heard stories from her friends about her courage in adversity, her generosity, and the dreams she once spoke of in quiet corners. It struck me that there was a whole tapestry of her life I had never seen. The realisation was both humbling and heartbreaking.
The layered nature of grief and regret
Grief is layered, the pain of absence, the longing for presence, and regret, the voice replaying what is left undone. I provided support. I stepped up during crises. I met the practical demands of her life. But support and presence are not the same. I see that now.
What I grieve most is not missing big gestures, but ordinary ones, conversations, afternoons without an agenda, sitting with her and asking how she really felt. I have faced uncomfortable truths. I rushed our conversations, related to her as a role, and deferred the emotional connection she deserved.
Sometimes I wonder what she might have told me, had I asked about the joys and sorrows she carried that had nothing to do with being my mother. Would she have shared stories of her childhood, her first ambitions, or the losses that shaped her? I will never know for certain, but I find comfort in imagining those conversations and the wisdom I might have gained.
I wish I had been emotionally attentive in the way she deserved. I wish I had created space for her to reveal herself beyond motherhood. That gap, the emotional distance I allowed, remains with me every day since she left.
I have also accepted this, I loved her with the capacity I had. That acceptance makes growth possible. Without it, regret imprisons, with it, regret teaches.
Seeing our mothers as whole people
Our mothers are not only mothers. They are women.
Our mothers are not only mothers. They are women with dreams, disappointments, identities, friendships, and inner lives formed independently of us. When we fail to see this, we unintentionally limit our connection with them, even when we believe we are close.
If your mother is alive, I ask, "Do you know her?" Not her function. Her.
Ask about her formative years, values, and moments she rarely shares. Go beyond logistics and find something real.
If you are not sure where to start, try questions like, "What were you like at my age? Who were your closest friends? What did you love doing before you became a mother?" These questions invite her to step outside the role of "mum" and reveal the woman she is and was.
Call her to linger, not to check a box. Sit without an agenda. Share something honest and let her do the same. Show curiosity about her as a person, it is a rare form of love.
Love is also a verb that requires time
We show love through doing, buying, fixing, providing. But the deeper form says, "I want to know you. You are worth my attention."
That love does not occur by accident. It needs intentional, deliberate time. When given, it makes a person feel deeply seen, not just cared for, but truly known.
My mother is gone. I cannot give her the presence she desired. But you can. The woman who gave you life is still there, a whole person with untold stories. Do not wait for stories from other people.
A final reflection
I cannot rewrite the past or reclaim lost moments. But I can honour what I have learned.
I carry her lessons in the way I approach my own relationships now. I try to listen more deeply, to ask questions that go beneath the surface, and to spend unhurried time with those I love. These small choices are my way of keeping her spirit alive in the present and of breaking the cycle of distance that unasked questions can create.
Grief has expanded my vision. Love is not just what we feel, it is how deeply we see someone while we have the chance.
Presence is not a grand gesture, but an ordinary, repeated choice, seeing your mother as the woman she has always been.
If your mother is no longer here, allow yourself grace in your grief. Understand that love is imperfect, and so is memory. What matters most is the intention to see people fully, while we still can, and even after they are gone. If she is still here on earth, go and know her.
Read more from Taiye Aluko
Taiye Aluko, Relationship Coach
Taiye Aluko is your guide to personal and professional transformation. With over two decades of counselling experience, she understands that our personal and professional lives are deeply intertwined. Taiye helps individuals navigate these interconnected spheres, empowering them to achieve clarity, fulfilment, and lasting success.
