The moment a woman gives birth to a child, she becomes a mother. She will be a mother until she takes her last breath, whether her children are there to hold her hand as she passes or have made the journey ahead of her.

On June 22, 1995, at 2:30 in the afternoon, Lora Krum became a mother.

Dylan Charles Krum arrived nine weeks early, weighing only 2 pounds, 3 ounces.

Three years later, she and her husband, Dave, welcomed another son. Gavin Lee was born on April 9, 1998, and like his older brother, Gavin arrived at 31 weeks, weighing just 1 pound, 13 ounces.

But the boys grew and flourished.

“Mother’s Day was a very special day for our family,” said the Lehighton woman. “We would go out for something to eat after church, usually a place that we knew the boys would like. They would do special things, like pull my chair out for me, and practice being gentlemen.”

The day before, her husband and the two boys would sneak out to buy her some flowers and a card.

“I have many of their cards and special crafts that they made me, and I cherish them,” Krum said.

“The last year as a family of four, the two boys got me a Garfield card and it has both of their signatures on it. I have it in a box on top of our small desk in the kitchen and I open it up and look at it several times a week and just touch their names.”

Shortly after Mother’s Day that year, Dylan was diagnosed with lymphoma. He died July 15, 2010, just 56 days after being diagnosed.

A family that had grown from two to three to four, was now only three.

Mother’s Day the following year was difficult for Lora, Dave and Gavin.

“We were still pretty much in the ‘fog of grief. Dave and Gavin still would go get me flowers, and we did our best, but we shared lots of tears and silence,” said Krum.

“The first Mother’s Day after Dylan died, the three of us went somewhere for dinner, and then drove for hours because we just didn’t know what to do with ourselves. The following year, we had more ability to plan ahead. We discussed where we might want to go and we shared most of the day together, and like on other occasions, we did find some activities that served as a temporary distraction, but we often found ourselves talking about Dylan.

“Gavin always kept his brother in his conversations. They were best friends and did so much together, and he missed him terribly.”

The following year, Gavin gave Krum a lily for Mother’s Day. They planted it in the garden on the side of the house that Gavin maintained in memory of his brother. Since then, every year on Dylan’s birthday, the lily blooms.

That would be the last Mother’s Day Krum would celebrate with one of her children.

Without Gavin

In August 2012, Gavin was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. He passed away shortly after Thanksgiving.

“Mother’s Day now is even tougher. I am a mom ... I have two sons ... and yet I have empty arms and two very deep holes in my shattered heart,” Krum said.

“It’s hard to go out, because we’re surrounded by families celebrating together. It’s hard to stay home because on days like that, the house seems even quieter, and emptier than ordinary days. There’s always the thoughts of would haves, could haves, should haves.

“It’s hard to be around those we love, because you can tell everyone feels awkward, and even if they’re thinking about the boys, nobody wants to mention it. And if we mention them, conversations kind of just stop.”

Krum said she and her husband don’t want to take away from anyone else’s happiness, so they try to find some place new to go, just the two of them, maybe for a hike, or out for ice cream or to a movie. They also usually go out of the area.

“It just seems a bit ‘easier’ to be around people we do not know. It’s awkward, especially on special days, to be around those who know us,” she said.

Other holidays are difficult as well, but the focus on the role of “Mom” is tough, Krum said.

“I listen to friends and co-workers discuss their plans for Mother’s Day, and I just get quiet. I go into a store and there are cards and signs reminding everyone to shop for their moms. Often I’ll see a dad with a boy or two, picking out special flowers for their mom, and I’ll just take a deep breath and smile.”

Typically, others often find it difficult to know what to say to a grieving parent on a day like Mother’s Day, and may think the best thing to say is nothing.

Not true, said Krum.

“I love to be acknowledged as Dylan and Gavin’s mom! It’s the most important role I’ll ever have in my life. I would never be offended by someone expressing Mother’s Day thoughts to me, although you may see me wince at the word ‘happy,’” she said.

“It may not be a happy day like we once knew, but it’s a day that honors motherhood and the special relationship between a mom and her children. That relationship is as real for me as it is for the mom with living children. I would just say ‘please don’t get offended if I remove the word ‘happy.’

“When we talk among our other grieving parent friends, we say things like Mother’s Day wishes, birthday wishes, etc. because we get it — that they’re not truly happy days anymore.”

In fact, not acknowledging their children at all, hurts much more.

“People not knowing what to say or people being offended if we explain what feels hurtful, has caused hard feelings, has dissolved friendships, etc. for us, and for lots of other grieving parents we know. We end up losing so much more on top of the most painful loss caused by the death of our children,” said Krum.

“There is no given list of ‘right and wrong things to say to a grieving parent,’ but it truly is a gift when someone makes it a point to mention what’s always on your mind, always in your heart — the children we love and miss. We may understand that it’s the other person’s discomfort that makes him or her dance around the subject, but we’re just waiting for that acknowledgment.

What hurts most, she said, is for people who knew her sons well to never speak about them to her or Dave.

“I feel blessed when someone mentions my boys, asks about their favorite food, or color, what their hobbies were. I feel blessed when those who did know my boys share a memory with us, or tell us they’ve had the boys on their mind.

“I feel blessed when people send me a picture of a rainbow or a snowfall, because they know the connections those things have to my boys. I feel blessed when someone simply says something like, ‘I know this must be a hard day for you.’

“I feel blessed when people realize there are no words to make us feel better and simply give us a hug.”