Anthony Edwards delivers a Mother's Day gem for mom, the Wolves, and all of us who've lost

Atlantic76ersCelticsKnicksNetsRaptorsCentralBucksBullsCavaliersPacersPistonsSoutheastHawksHeatHornetsMagicWizardsSouthwestGrizzliesMavericksPelicansRocketsSpursNorthwestJazzNuggetsThunderTimberwolvesTrail BlazersPacificClippersKingsLakersSunsWarriorsScores & ScheduleStandingsThe Bounce NewsletterNBA DraftPodcastsFantasyNBA OddsNBA PicksMeet KAT's Biggest FanHollinger's Top Draft ProspectsLottery Reform Is OverdueWhat Makes Up Championship DNA?NBA Playoffs Edwards' brilliant Game 4 performance to lift the Timberwolves was a fitting tribute to his late mother — and a reminder to those of us grieving how sorrow can inspire. David Berding / Getty Images Share articleMINNEAPOLIS — The subject of Anthony Edwards’ late mother goes largely undiscussed. Whatever pain remains from losing her 11 years ago, whatever motivation he mines from her impact, remains locked away behind his rollicking aura. He doesn’t talk about the great trauma he endured at 14, and still carries at 24. But on Sunday, the Minnesota Timberwolves star spoke to her. With something greater than words. The toughness she bequeathed him. The belief she poured into him. The appreciation she taught him. So exhausted during Game 4, he slipped into the tunnel for oxygen during a timeout with four minutes left. The San Antonio Spurs’ steady wave of aggressive defenders hounded him harder as the game elapsed, trapping him and face-guarding him in the fourth. And his knees ached to the point he preferred falling instead of landing on his feet. But Edwards summoned the love of his mother for a boost. He found more. Enough lift on his turnaround jumpers and arc on his 3s. Enough burst on his drives and strength to finish through contact. Enough to score 16 points in the fourth quarter so his Timberwolves could survive, 114-109, and even this Western Conference semifnal series at two games apiece. When he stepped around a Rudy Gobert screen in the fourth quarter and drilled a dead-center 3, sending the sell-out crowd into a frenzy and San Antonio into a timeout, Target Center filled with a social vibe, as if the will of a superstar were producing a moment. His 36 points on 22 shots in 40 minutes helped Minnesota avoid a crushing defeat to a Spurs squad that played mostly without Victor Wembanyama after he was ejected in the second quarter. Edwards’ competitiveness has long been established. Sunday, though, Mother’s Day, his fuel came from a special source. He deemed the occasion worthy of turning private hurt into a public proclamation. “I just wanted to win for my mom,” he said. “It was that simple.” People across America celebrated their mothers with breakfast in bed and brunch dates, flowers and candy, gifts and adventures, hugs and quality time. Edwards, meanwhile, connected with the void that can’t be filled, thinking all day about Yvette Edwards, who died from cancer on Jan. 5, 2015. His gift to her: victory. His first career win on Mother’s Day. Even amid the raucousness of Timberwolves fans Sunday night, Edwards could almost assuredly still hear Yvette screaming for him, like she did during his youth football days. And just like on the football field of Georgia, in Oakland City and Adamsville, everyone in Target Center would know Ant’s mom. He represented millions who find hurt on this holiday. He proved that the pain that never leaves can transform into an internal fire. His performance, his story, illustrated how resilience can be the best form of remembrance. For Edwards, Sunday marked 4,144 days since he lost his mother. This Mother’s Day swelled with emptiness. I didn’t get to treat my mom to Red Lobster, her favorite. Didn’t get to buy Deana another set of soft pajamas, as she always wants. Didn’t spend 20 minutes on the phone hearing about how I was the favorite of her six children as the firstborn. Couldn’t handle my annual tradition of reflection with “Dear Mama” on repeat. I didn’t want to talk about it, especially as the surreality began to fade. But Edwards’ dedication of the win to his mom following his series-saving performance reminded me of truths I needed to reclaim. That a new normal arrives eventually. That trauma and the tears they bring don’t have to extinguish joy, which is rooted in knowledge and conviction. That making someone you love proud fulfills you even when they’re gone. These gems were hard lessons learned from losing my dad. But after 25 years, this refresher course proved clutch. Perhaps this is too deep. The onset of grief manufactured meaning from an NBA playoff game. Or maybe part of the appeal of sports, and the connection with their stars, can be found in the humanity on display. A picture of Edwards during the 2020 NBA Draft surfaced on social media. At home during the pandemic, he sat on a couch waiting to hear his name called first by Adam Silver. To Edwards’ right, a painting of his mother. To his left, a painting of his grandmother, Shirley, who died from cancer eight months after his mother. He wears No. 5 because they both died on the fifth. Seeing the 19-year-old him between the renderings of his fallen matriarchs tells an amazing story when juxtaposed with the man now the face of the Timberwolves. The distance between them reveals something special. By no means a portrait of perfection, but of profound perseverance. What did it take to survive at that age and still get here? What’s inside that prevented him from breaking after the kind of hurt that destroys lives? Edwards works like a man familiar with struggle, yet smiles like a man who refuses to be conquered by it. “The older you get, the more mature you get,” said Edwards, who scored 44 in his only other Mother’s Day game, a loss to Denver in the 2024 playoffs. “But it’s not just about me. It’s the people around me. … These people really want to see me succeed, and they don’t let me take a day off. They stay on me and I appreciate everybody that’s in my circle.” The extra strength he derived from honoring his mom held him up in Game 4 against the Spurs’ Stephon Castle, Devin Vassell, Dylan Harper and whoever was available to trap. But Edwards found just enough cracks in the defense. His pull-up 3-pointer on the right wing put the Wolves up a point with just over five minutes left. Edwards bounced after the shot ripped the nets. A few minutes later, a Naz Reid 3-pointer banged off the back rim to the top. Edwards won the race to the ball, continued towards the rim and dropped in the layup after colliding with Spurs center Luke Kornet. Edwards flexed after giving Minnesota a 4-point lead. The Wolves wouldn’t trail again. It was his last real burst. The Spurs face-guarded and trapped him. Edwards’ gravity opened space up for his teammates, who kept San Antonio at bay. When the win was secured, he raised both fists. He’d spent all he had, and it got the job done. Mother’s Day gift delivered. “I couldn’t lose this game for her,” he said. After he said all he wanted to say about his mother, Edwards shifted the attention off him onto his teammates and the victory they earned. And the depth he possesses, the complicated essence of the young man who endured, returned back to its private place. Compartmentalized, sanctified even, where memories of moments and lessons give him strength and perspective. And that’s where we’ll keep it. Because while a mother’s loss stains the heart, a mother’s love lifts the soul. Spot the pattern. Connect the terms Find the hidden link between sports terms