Mother’s Day Is Sunday. Before the Flowers, Ask Her These Five Questions.

You’ll bring flowers this weekend. Maybe brunch. She’ll say you didn’t have to, and she’ll love them anyway.

Do one more thing.

Bring a conversation.

Not a heavy one. Not the kind that requires wine and tissues. Just a handful of questions you ask while you’re together — questions most families wish they’d asked ten years earlier. Because by the time they knew they needed the answers, the window to ask had closed.

Here’s the thing about long-term care: nobody wants to talk about it until they have to. And by the time they have to, nobody’s thinking clearly. You’re making decisions in crisis mode, in a hospital hallway, reading paperwork at 2 a.m. The conversation that could have happened at brunch happens instead in a phone call from your sister who’s panicking.

So this year, have the brunch version.

The Five Questions

These aren’t technical. They aren’t legal. They’re not about money — not directly. They’re about understanding what your mom actually wants, before anyone has to guess on her behalf.

1. What does a good day at 85 look like to you?

Start here because it opens the door gently. Her answer will tell you what “living well” means to her — and it’s almost never what you assume. Some moms picture gardening. Some picture grandkids on the floor. Some picture their own kitchen, their own coffee mug, their own morning light.

The specifics matter. They shape every decision that comes later.

2. If your health changed, where would you want to be living?

Stay home with help? Move closer to you or your siblings? Somewhere she’s already quietly researched? You’d be surprised how many moms have opinions on this they’ve never shared — because nobody asked.

Listen to her tone, too. “I don’t know” is different from “I never want to be a burden.” One is an open conversation. The other is a signal.

3. Who would you want making decisions for you if you couldn’t?

This is the one families avoid until it’s too late. Power of attorney. Healthcare proxy. The person who speaks for her when she can’t speak for herself.

It doesn’t have to be you. It often is. But it should be someone she chooses, on a good day, over coffee — not someone a hospital assigns in an emergency.

4. Who’s in your support circle — and what should I know about them?

Her doctor. Her neighbor. Her friend from church who checks on her. The names of the people who’d notice if something was off.

Write them down. Save the numbers. You’ll be grateful you did long before you ever need to use them.

5. What matters most to you about how you’re remembered?

This one isn’t about a eulogy. It’s a compass. Her answer — whether it’s “I want my grandkids to know I was there” or “I want people to say I was kind” — becomes the filter for every decision you’ll make together from here.

When you know what she wants to leave behind, you stop making decisions that serve your own comfort and start making decisions that serve hers.

One More Thing

You don’t have to ask all five in one sitting. You don’t have to take notes like a lawyer. And you don’t have to do this on Mother’s Day if it feels wrong for your family.

But have the conversation sometime. Soon. This year, not next.

Because the cost of having it is an awkward twenty minutes.

The cost of not having it is every decision for the rest of her life getting harder.