Michelle Hord Lost Her Mother and Her Young Daughter. Here is Her Advice On Coping With Loss

And then later, the frantic calls from friends who had lost their own mothers began. “You lost your mom. How did you do it? What am I supposed to do?”

So I mothered them with the same mother’s heart my friends had given me: offering a meal, a silly joke or a quiet partner to sit with. Holding their hand through all the same “firsts” I struggled with, like the first Mother’s Day — or even the second or third.

For me, it took years to even walk past a card shop or watch a Mother’s Day commercial this time of year. It wasn’t until May of 2010, my first Mother’s Day with my daughter, Gabrielle, that I saw it as a celebration again — a bittersweet chapter where I acknowledged what I had lost while also creating new memories and traditions of my own. I would have eight Mother’s Days with Gabrielle before she was senselessly murdered by her father during our divorce. Suddenly, the grief and vulnerability were there again. I was a motherless daughter and a daughterless mother.

More than ever, I understand the power of motherhood, and the absence of it — for the women who lost children or were unable to conceive, women who lost mothers, women who never had a close relationship with their mothers, women who are caretakers and watching their childhood heroes wither away.

If this will be your first Mother’s Day without your own mother or child, I am so very sorry. I will not offer an exact playbook because there is no perfect one. But there are three pieces of advice I would share with you if we were friends.

First, it can be helpful to think about these important days in advance, then make plans. You can choose to celebrate with others at a brunch, or you can choose to stay in bed with a pint of ice cream all day in your pajamas. You can even plan for that brunch and decide at the last minute to cancel if it is too much. Give yourself the grace you would give your own child to soothe a broken heart.

Also, holding on to what time cannot take away — memories, traditions, stories, pictures — can be a balm. Saying her name aloud and inviting others to share stories of their own loss with you can invite laughter and tears. Both will be healing. Whatever grief you are feeling in this moment will change and evolve. Our power lies not in our ability to “handle” our grief. Our power is in being vulnerable enough to express it and share it; to mother ourselves by asking for what we need and being open to receiving it.

More than ever, I understand the power of motherhood, and the absence of it — for the women who lost children or were unable to conceive, women who lost mothers, women who never had a close relationship with their mothers, women who are caretakers and watching their childhood heroes wither away.

If this will be your first Mother’s Day without your own mother or child, I am so very sorry. I will not offer an exact playbook because there is no perfect one. But there are three pieces of advice I would share with you if we were friends.

First, it can be helpful to think about these important days in advance, then make plans. You can choose to celebrate with others at a brunch, or you can choose to stay in bed with a pint of ice cream all day in your pajamas. You can even plan for that brunch and decide at the last minute to cancel if it is too much. Give yourself the grace you would give your own child to soothe a broken heart.

Also, holding on to what time cannot take away — memories, traditions, stories, pictures — can be a balm. Saying her name aloud and inviting others to share stories of their own loss with you can invite laughter and tears. Both will be healing. Whatever grief you are feeling in this moment will change and evolve. Our power lies not in our ability to “handle” our grief. Our power is in being vulnerable enough to express it and share it; to mother ourselves by asking for what we need and being open to receiving it.

Hord sits with her baby son, whose little hand clasps a heart necklace with Gabrielle's name on it.

Cheriss May

Memories of my mother definitely meant food. She was a great cook, but I had been left without her recipes. When death comes swiftly, there is no time for last words or preparation.

My favorite meal was her pot roast. It was a Sunday supper staple in our home. I will never forget the first time I “nailed” it. I was visiting my brother in Colorado. He was just getting out of the hospital, and as his big sister I wanted to do whatever I could to mother him and offer him comfort. We both had tears in our eyes after he took his first bite of the pot roast I’d made for him. At the table, memory and mourning combined in taste, smell and sight. 

With time, you will discover that motherhood/daughterhood does not disappear in the darkness of your loss. It lives on in the selfless love of finding and being found. Being found as a surrogate mother or a surrogate daughter; sharing history and testimonies and creating new rituals from the ashes. Crawling, then walking, then stumbling and eventually running, as we did so many years ago. We grow up again in this new space.

And this Mother’s Day, I am watching the physical manifestation of those baby steps as I hold my newborn baby boy, Alexander. He loves to clutch a silver heart I wear with his big sister’s name inscribed on it. Further proof that motherly love can connect in marvelous and mystic ways; and that even through grief, there is so much more life to live.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.