As Mother’s Day approaches, I find myself thinking about my mother—not just the loving woman who always tried to protect me, but the fierce, resourceful mother who kept us alive during the darkest days of the communist dictatorship in Romania.

My childhood was marked by shortages. Not just of toys or treats, but of the most basic necessities. Food was scarce. We waited in endless lines, shivering in the bitter cold, because any line might mean something to eat. When my mother managed to bring home a loaf of bread or a few eggs, she would tell us she had already eaten, smiling weakly as she watched us devour what little there was. But I saw her, thin and exhausted, trying to be strong for us.

In winter, the government would cut off our heat. We would huddle together under blankets in the darkness, our breath visible in the frigid air. Power outages were constant, plunging us into darkness with only candles to push back the shadows. Yet my mother was our light. She whispered stories of a better world, kept us hopeful, and did everything she could to protect us from a reality she could not change.

But there were some children who were not so lucky.

Ceaușescu’s regime had banned abortion and contraception, declaring that a woman’s body belonged to the state. Forced to bear children they could not feed, many families were left desperate. And the orphanages became warehouses of human misery—rows upon rows of cribs filled with babies who rocked themselves for comfort because no one came when they cried. Hollow eyes stared from sunken faces, the sound of metal beds creaking, and the smell of neglect hung heavy in the air.

Those children were the human cost of policies that forced women to give birth but offered nothing to help them care for those children afterward.

Today, here in the United States, I am haunted by echoes of that nightmare. State after state is stripping away reproductive rights, forcing women to carry pregnancies against their will—even when it endangers their health or lives. At the same time, the very programs that help families—like Medicaid, which provides prenatal care and health coverage, and Head Start, which offers early education to low-income children—are being slashed.

We claim to value life. But do we value the lives of the women who give birth? Do we value the lives of the children they struggle to raise without healthcare, food security, or educational support? Do we see the strain on parents who give everything to keep their children safe, warm, and hopeful in a world that seems intent on taking even the basics away?

My mother’s strength saved us, but it left her weary, frail, and stretched to the breaking point. She had to become a warrior just to keep us alive. No mother should have to be that alone. No child should have to live with hunger gnawing at their belly or grow up in the darkness of neglect.

This Mother’s Day, let’s look beyond the flowers and the cards. Let’s ask ourselves what it truly means to support mothers—not just during pregnancy, but at every step of the way.

If we want a future where families can flourish, we must do more than force women to give birth. We must ensure they have the resources, care, and support to raise their children in safety and dignity. That is how we truly honor mothers—by standing beside them, not abandoning them.