I am not sure if we became like mothers

when we lost ours,

or if we always were.


Lost is an appropriate word

because we are always searching for her.

Maybe she’s hiding,

and that’s why she’s not at every party,

every birthday, or this new funeral.


Sister got a hold of my father’s credit card

and went rogue on Amazon.

Day after day, brown boxes brought to my front door

delivered by her special brand of humor

to help make the spaces between death funny.


Rubber chickens

Neon socks

Vegan cupcakes for non-vegans

Frogs for the memory garden

A Danny DeVito pillow to snuggle at night.


She is the one that does the dishes.

She is the one who sweeps up the glass.

She is the one that wears a tiara when delivering your remains.

She is the one who rolls up to my house in her SUV,

gets in bed with me when I can’t get out.


She is the one that called my inner circle.

She is the one that gave the impossible news.

Can we please praise the brave here?

Praise the sister who made the call.

Praise the sister who holds my boys.

Praise the sister who texts a half dozen times a day.

Praise the sister who, when she hugs me,

grabs my head and holds.


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: