Lessons in community and joy with Amanda Kloots and other inspiring women

Joyful grievers like Amanda Kloots, EF Collection's Emily Faith Strauss, Katie Couric, Kelly Rizzo, & Allison Holker are proof we can find joy after sorrow.

Like anything else in life, you look to those who have come before you. I’ve done that throughout my career, my path to motherhood, and — now — my grief journey. When my daughter was first diagnosed with a mitochondrial disease in 2019, I found inspiration through fellow mito moms on social media. During this time, some of our children were lost to the disease and, yet, somehow we’ve each managed to remain in pursuit of purpose and joy as we create meaning and honor our children’s legacies.

“Not everything happens for a reason. But smart people will find a reason,” became my family’s motto long before Miss Evan passed away in 2022. Mito parents, like myself, often find ourselves in uncharted territory as most medical professionals have only ever read about mitochondrial disease in medical school and journals, as opposed to encountering it in real life. Being a mito parent can feel isolating.

However, as rare as mito is — loss, grief, and the radical act of reclaiming joy after heartbreak is universal, which is why I’ve found a lot of comfort among fellow “joyful grievers,” as I often call them. We don’t always talk about grief. But it’s nice to be in the presence of those who understand the duality of heartache and happiness.

No one wants to be a part of the joyful grieving community, but it’s filled with tender, kindhearted, present, and loving people who keep celebrating each and every day because we understand firsthand that each and every day is a gift. It’s a group of inspirational men and women who keep moving forward even when their bodies want to give up. We keep dancing. We keep singing. We keep writing. We keep finding reasons to smile. Because it’s what our loved ones would have wanted.

We also keep finding reasons to say our loved ones’ names. (For me, her name is EVAN FRANCES BUCKNER — whose spirit lives on through me, my husband, my three-year-old son Reid, and anyone whose life she managed to touch in just three short years without ever having said a word.)

Amanda Kloots is also the epitome of a joyful griever. She continues to embrace joy in the name of her young son, Elvis, while honoring her late husband, Nick Cordero, through forward motion. She’s navigated the unimaginable and continues to come out on top. Whether it’s through her social media presence or as a host of The Talk and Watch Live from the Other Side with Tyler Henry, it’s clear she has found a way to turn her pain into purpose. And she does it all with a smile.

And if she didn’t smile, no one would blame her. There’s no rule that says you have to smile in the face of tragedy. But she, like me, has found it’s a lot easier to count your blessings versus casting yourself as a victim of circumstance.

When Nick passed away at the start of COVID, people followed closely as we collectively navigated the unknown. The newly single mother gave hope to many as she found her footing in Los Angeles.

Amanda’s journey unfolded as my family was in the thick of my daughter’s unexpected mitochondrial disease diagnosis. Having been warned when Miss Evan was just four months old that her life expectancy would likely be between the ages of 16 months to 4 years old, I feared that one day that day would arrive.

It did. Just shy of her fourth birthday.

I, like most people, had been aware of Amanda’s perseverance through Instagram. She — like those who have come before her — is proof that one can overcome anything.

“You’re so strong,” people have often told me as well. “I could never do it.”

Yes, they could.

No one wants to. But you do what you have to do to survive. And finding joy is a tool of survival. It’s all we have in this world to fight against the insurmountable. That as well as a community, humor, and an ability to pivot and keep pivoting. Time and again.

While I had some awareness of Amanda’s story during my earthside journey with Evan, Amanda and I later found ourselves at an event together through a mutual friend, Emily Strauss of EF Collection — with whom I also share a unique, unimaginable bond. Our angel babies brought us together. Emily reached out to me after my daughter Evan passed away to offer comfort. Emily’s son Austin was diagnosed with polycystic kidney disease and passed away as a newborn. She understood my pain and reached out to me shortly after Evan passed away.

A year later, Emily and I decided to co-host a deeply personal dinner party in celebration of all forms of motherhood. We wanted to bring together other like-minded women who have been important to us throughout our own individual journeys. The night gave us a chance to thank people in our lives whose support got us through tough times. It also gave us a chance to celebrate life.

Emily is another example of a joyful griever who has inspired me along the way. In addition to sending positive notes, she also helped me create a beautiful, custom, rose gold ring that mimics Miss Evan’s cheery sunglasses. I continue to wear it as a daily reminder to see life through rose-colored glasses — just as Evan taught me. We later made the design available to the public with a portion of its proceeds benefiting Evan's passionate advocates at Rady Children's Institute for Genomic Medicine through Angels 4 Austin, a non-profit founded by Emily and her husband.

But back to Amanda…

Amanda knew Emily, who invited her to the event. Amanda and I didn’t get a chance to meet that night. Yet somehow we kept winding up in one another’s orbit. A year later, through my work with The Retaility, I partnered with September Letters, a mental health platform formed by Jaspre Guest and Brittany Snow. Coincidentally, Amanda had contributed to their book, and we were seated with one another at a dinner celebrating the book’s publication. I didn’t have the heart to share Evan’s story with Amanda that night. Sometimes the best medicine is to talk about anything and everything other than grief. Other times, it’s just what the doctor ordered — which is why I actually opted to switch seats to chat with a new friend, another mom who’d also lost her child (to different circumstances) around the same time as Evan.

Prior to Evan, I was a homebody. But in the midst of motherhood and the isolation of an unconventional motherhood, I craved community, which is why I began to throw dinner parties. These dinners represented the strength of community — a word that is often thrown around to represent marketing spin and social media buzz. But a sense of community is how I've managed to get by over the last handful of years.

These dinners were also my chance to get dressed up and to give myself a seat at the table — if no one else would — while deciding who else should be there with me.

Producer Hilary Shor — who I’d also somehow reconnected with during the early days of losing Evan — kept encountering Amanda, too, at my events and at other festivities around town. They struck up a friendship, so I invited them both to appear on The Retaility as part of our “In Conversation” series. Their heartfelt, inspiring conversation particularly struck a chord with me and with readers.

“The grace [with which] you've handled these last four years of moving to a new city and being alone, I admire you tremendously,” Hilary told Amanda when we gathered at her Los Angeles home. “I know how much courage that took.”

“Elvis has helped me heal so much,” Amanda shared. “It was such a blessing. Honestly, I look back, and it was a blessing to roll over every morning and have Elvis right there smiling at me. It saved me. I mean, every single day, there was no other option. Also, it was still the height of COVID. To have people over [wasn't a possibility]. It was [only my] inner circle. [There] wasn't an option of, 'I'm just going to take him to daycare all day, and I'm just going lay here and cry.' There was no [other] option [but to keep moving].”

The sentiment resonated deeply. I later told Amanda as much.

Similarly, my son Reid saved me in the immediate aftermath of Evan’s passing — as I wrote about for People Magazine. He was just four months old when Evan passed away. In the same way I gave into my daughter’s reality, I threw myself into Reid’s joyful reality. It’s why I tell him every other second how lucky I am to be his mother. And he knows I feel the same way about Evan. That’s not to say he hasn’t had moments of confusion. “Can Evan come over for a playdate?” “Where does Evan live?” I’ve continuously explained in age-appropriate ways that Evan is dead, and that she lives on through her songs and books, of which there are many. He understands as much as any three-year-old understands. And he joyfully says her name — because *we* joyfully say her name.

He often asks about her when we’re driving, which also reminded me of something Amanda shared about how she’s navigated similar conversations with her son.

“[Nick] has come up a couple of times,” Amanda said. “It's always at random, weird times. For instance, it's always driving to preschool. For some reason, Elvis will say something about Dada and, 'Where is he?' or something, and I'm in the car driving. … I'll give this example. This is the best way to sum up how he is understanding things right now... On Nick's birthday, I like to plan a celebration on that day. So, we get a cake. And we sing Happy Birthday to Dada. This year, we went to Del Frisco's [Steakhouse] because that was Nick and [my favorite]. Nick and I loved Del Frisco's in New York. That Del Frisco's is iconic. It's two levels. It's this huge, sprawling wood staircase looking out on Rockefeller Center in New York. Nick and I would meet there after his Broadway show. I would teach [fitness] all day, and we would have 11 o'clock dinners. It became our spot. So, I took Elvis there for Nick's birthday this year [with] my girlfriend and her fiancé. And I'm getting Elvis all dressed up in a little, cute suit and talking about how it's Dada's birthday. And he goes, 'Will he be there?'

She continued, “So that's where we're at. He knows he has a dad. He knows that his dad isn't alive. And he's very frank about ‘my Dada is dead.’ He will say [that]. Because I’ve been very clear about that. I didn't want to be [wishy-washy]—'He's in the clouds.' I do believe in heaven. I do believe that Nick is there. I believe that Nick is everywhere. I believe that Nick watches over us every single day and is with Elvis at school and with us now. My beliefs in the spirit world have gone so much deeper than I ever thought it would be. But cognitively, I don't think he's fully aware of it right now. It's coming, though.”

I’ve since had experiences of my own — reminiscent of the ones Amanda recalled. And we’ve remained casually in touch since then.

Earlier this month, Amanda invited me to the launch party for her new supplement line, Proper, which is packed with vitamins and flavor. (PS. I can attest. She kindly sent me a preview and her Lavender Lemonade is divinely delish.)

Despite my hubby being out of town and needing a sitter for my son, I found a way to show up for her — the way she’s shown up for me over the last little while. Because that’s what joyful grief looks like. You mourn the losses. You celebrate the wins. And you appreciate each and every moment in between.

Looking around the room at The Butcher’s Daughter in West Hollywood, I realized what a beautiful community of friends Amanda has built in the face of unimaginable circumstances. Yes, Finneas and Amanda’s “Dancing with the Stars” crew were there. But I was most delighted to spot fellow joyful grievers like Kelly Rizzo, who unexpectedly lost her husband Bob Saget in 2022; Allison Holker, whose husband Stephen “tWitch” Boss left us without warning the same year; and Katie Couric, whose first husband passed away in 1998.

And those are merely the faces I recognized.

Most people have experienced some form of underlying grief in their lives. It’s typically hidden in plain sight. But I don’t want mine to be hidden. Which is why I’ll keep telling Evan’s story. Because there’s a whole community of us out there — aching to say our loved ones’ names in between cocktails, walnut crostinis, and chit chat about the latest episode of “White Lotus.”

Life is hard. But you get dressed. You show up. And you keep showing up. For each other. And for our heavenly loved ones. I know this because of the women in that room — and the women who came before us.

Photos by Jennifer Johnson and Emma McIntyre.