I hold the memorial for you at our house.

Three hundred people domino

up and down the stairs

and the hallways.


There is a white tent outside for overflow

and a firepit that the kids throw soda cans into.


Flowers, photos, your mountain bikes,

your skateboards on the front lawn,

wheels still rolling.


You used to say –

This is my forever home,

and the only way I am leaving

is if I die!


When I used to say – I’m going to kill you!

You would say – Good! I won’t have to go to work tomorrow!



This is where you lived and died.

Right here. Right here –


I take so many meds

to avoid collapse,

but I am not high.

I am numbed out

to the winding line of mourners.


But this is not a funeral,

this is your final send-off.

The boys call it “daddy’s party.”

I call it a Catholic Shiva for a Punk Atheist.


You are echoing in all the alcoves

and, death, I can smell your body wash.


Babe, I buried your ashes

under the Buddha in the yard.


Babe, I burned you

like the Viking King you are.


Amanda thought March 4th, 2020, would be just another normal morning until her husband, Ed, went into cardiac arrest due to his heart condition, HCM, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. There was a 1% chance of sudden death, but he passed that day. He was 40 years young, and they had been married for 14 years. One week later the world went into lockdown due to Covid, and Amanda and her two small sons, who were 9 and 11, would be left grieving during the strangest of times.

During this time, writing was the only way Amanda could cope. She wrote the manuscript The Queen of Joyful Things, which are poems about losing her husband. She is happy to be a part of the Hope for Widows community and hopes her story will help other young widows. You can visit her at: