On this Mother’s Day, we pause not just to celebrate—but to bow our heads in reverence and raise our voices in gratitude for the mothers who have walked through fire to protect their children.
This is for the mothers who never wanted to become warriors, but became one the moment someone hurt their child.
For the mothers who traded sleep for courtroom benches, playgrounds for state capitol halls.
For the mothers who sat silently through their child’s testimony, fists clenched, heart breaking—but steady, solid, unshaken in their support.
You are more than mothers, you are:
- Guardians.
- Truth-tellers.
- Changemakers.
To the Mothers Who Fought for Justice
Some of you marched- rallied.
Stood on the steps of state capitol buildings holding nothing but a photo and a prayer, demanding that lawmakers finally listen—that statutes of limitations be lifted, that civil justice be possible for every child, that the cycle of silence be broken.
You told your stories not because you wanted to—but because you had to.
Because if your voice could spare one more child from trauma, then it was worth reopening every wound to make it heard.
You stared down the systems that failed your children. You stood tall while institutions scrambled to protect themselves. You demanded accountability when no one else would.
Today, we honor your courage.
You didn’t just mother your own child—you mothered a movement.
To the Mothers Who Sat with Their Children in the Darkness
Some of you never marched—but you sat.
You sat on the bathroom floor, holding your child through a panic attack.
You sat in hospital waiting rooms and forensic interview centers.
You sat in silence when words were too much—and too little.
You sat through shame, grief, rage, and numbness. And then you kept sitting.
You were the safe place to land.
You didn’t have the answers. You didn’t need them. Your presence was enough. Your love—unflinching, unconditional—was the first light your child saw after the darkness of abuse.
You gave them permission to feel, to speak, to rage, to grieve—and, eventually, to heal.
Today, we honor your love.
You didn’t fix their pain—you held it with them until it became something they could carry.
To the Mothers Who Lost, and Still Fought
Some of you are reading this with tears in your eyes because you didn’t get the ending you deserved. Your child didn’t survive. Or maybe they’re still lost in the fog of trauma. Maybe they haven’t found their voice yet. Maybe they’ve pushed you away.
Still—you fight.
Still—you speak their names.
Still—you advocate so that no other family has to know your pain.
You embody the most sacred kind of mothering—selfless, boundless, relentless in your pursuit of justice, even in your own grief.
Today, we honor your strength.
You keep going, even when your heart is shattered. You are the blueprint for bravery.
From All of Us at Andreozzi + Foote
To the mothers who believed their children.
To the mothers who never stopped showing up.
To the mothers who built change from the wreckage of trauma.
To the grandmothers, stepmothers, foster mothers, aunties, and chosen moms who filled in the gaps when no one else would.
We see you. We thank you. We honor you.
Your love has changed laws.
Your fight has opened doors to justice.
Your presence has saved lives.
This Mother’s Day, we celebrate you—the fierce, loving, unapologetic force standing between harm and healing. You are the reason hope still lives.
Happy Mother’s Day.
With gratitude and solidarity,
Jennifer Storm and the team at Andreozzi + Foote
