I’ve been blessed with one mom in my lifetime. And make no mistake, I love her very much.

But I’ve got countless “mothers of the heart” who’ve invested their time, their prayers and their hearts in making sure that I turned out OK these last 40-some years.

There were the church mothers who sat in the pew behind ours each Sunday. The ones who’d walk with a fussy baby in the back of the church, or play peek-a-boo with a bored toddler. They kept an eye on me and my siblings for Mom while she played the piano for the service when I was little. And I know as I grew older they kept me in their prayers.

Some were mothers of my friends. The ones who opened their homes to raucous, noisy sleepovers of giggling girls. They packed their vans with kids to go to 4-H meetings and sporting events. They were the room moms and the school chaperones, keeping us safe and showing us, we were loved.

Some were teachers who saw in me talent I didn’t see in myself or value at the time. But they nudged me, cajoled me, and harangued me into shaping that talent. I’m a writer because of those teachers. I can speak in public because of them. I’m confident on the stage and in my own abilities because of them.

There were the 4-H leaders who showed me to make the best better. The show moms standing ringside cheering me on. The moms who — still, after all these years — check in on me when I see them and give me hugs and tell me how proud they are of how I turned out.

Not all of them were related by blood. Some of them didn’t have children of their own. They mothered by instinct, not by expert handbook. They’ve celebrated my highs and have held me at my very lowest of lows. Just as if I was their own. To be sure, sometimes I resisted their mothering ways, and I may have caused them to worry here and there.

But they were all mothers of the heart to me. And to every other child who came into their perimeter.

And my mom did all the same things for their kids in return. She held hands and wiped tears. She deployed the hugs of celebration in equal measure with the strong mother “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” look of disapproval to those kids who needed them. My mom used to say, “it doesn’t matter who you are — if a kid is in need of mothering, you mother.”

This Mother’s Day, remember to call your mom if you’re able. And be sure to remember the mothers of your heart if you can.