Amanda Kloots’ Story Shows Calling a Grieving Friend ‘Strong’ Can Miss What She Actually Needs
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Amanda Kloots talked about her husband hugging her while she made dinner and that those are the little things throughout the day that she misses the most at times. That’s the cruel thing about life sometimes, that you notice those seemingly small gestures once a person is no longer there to do those small things that you now realize are everything. Relationships, marriages like theirs, are made up of those everyday moments no one else ever sees. You’re there at the stove, cooking something you don’t even remember, running through a mental checklist, and then, out of nowhere, his arms wrap around you. Just for a second. You barely notice until one day, it’s not there anymore.
After Nick Cordero died, Amanda had to do everything in a way that she never expected nor was prepared for - raise their son Elvis, keep life moving, juggle a half-dozen jobs. She told me during our interview that she felt cut off from her femininity. I couldn’t stop thinking about that, and I had never quite heard loss articulated in that way. She just didn’t have much room to feel cared for herself, always needing to be the one to carry the load.
“You couldn’t even soften,” I said to her. That’s stuck with me ever since our recording of the debut episode of Dr. Zelana On Being Human. She was talking about widowhood, but you don’t need to lose your spouse to understand this concept. When everyone depends on you, it’s almost impossible to turn off that sense of responsibility. You never stop thinking about what people need from you, even when you’re finally sitting down for a minute.
Amanda explained it in terms of masculine and feminine energy. Someone else might use different words. The core is the same: that she missed a part of herself she’d only known with him. Just his presence let her relax in ways she just couldn’t when she was alone.
It seems obvious to say someone who lost a partner misses their company. But we almost always overlook the part about sharing responsibility, of having another adult in the house who can step in at bedtime without asking, help with tough choices, or just notice when you’re having a rough day before you even mention it. What’s missing is the shared life. That loss runs so much deeper than we realize. It can turn a normal evening into something you need extra strength just to get through.
I’ve written a lot about resilience, and I know people rebuild after tragedy. But listening to Amanda made me think about how we treat people when it looks like they’re managing just fine. “You’re so strong,” we say. We mean it as a compliment; I even know better, but have said it so many times to people. But I’m starting to think how much of that is just us trying to feel better. She’s working, her kid’s smiling, so we decide she must be fine.
But getting your kid to school, paying bills, putting food on the table, going to work... those are just things you can’t skip. They don’t tell you how someone’s actually doing. You have no idea what their morning was like, if they started sobbing in the car after drop-off, or if there’s anyone around for them to call when they hit a wall.
Researchers Margaret Stroebe and Henk Schut called this the dual process model of bereavement. They define this as when people flip back and forth between feeling the loss and dealing with all the new, overwhelming responsibilities. On top of missing your person, suddenly you’re handling bills, chores, and decisions you used to share. It’s all mixed together in daily life.
Even the smallest thing, like a headache your husband would have helped you deal with, reminds you he’s gone. A lost key he used to find between the car seats. Your child does something hilarious, and there’s no one there who would have laughed as hard as you.
Research backs this up. Studies show that grieving adults found that stress changes after a death. It wasn’t just the number of changes, but how hard each one felt, that is tied directly to prolonged grief and depression. It’s not how many new tasks you have; it’s the weight of handling them on your own. That’s the differentiator.
This reminds me to ask better questions for those who have lost someone close. Instead of just “How are you?” I want to know, “Which part of the week takes the most out of you?” I want to ask questions that peel the layers, something that might get us closer to what actually matters to give me clues how I can be most helpful.
In the premiere episode of Dr. Zelana On Being Human, Amanda Kloots opens up about losing husband Nick Cordero, questioning God and finding her way back to church.
When Amanda started dating again, she said the nonstop juggling was still there. She might have had a fun night out, but came home to the same piles of work and needs. Affection helped, sure, but life still moved at the same pace the next morning. I respect how honest she is about that reality. We keep telling overwhelmed women to “reconnect with themselves,” forgetting how much energy that actually takes.
Amanda found some happiness in a Monday-night dance class. She was nervous about going even though she loves to dance. Eventually she went, and in doing so, she found that part of herself again. That made me happy for her. But then I thought about all the women who’d love an evening to themselves, but can’t pull it off. Finding a sitter, paying for it, sorting out dinner, deciding which chores to ignore... it’s a whole juggling act. Suggesting a class is easy. Making room for it is the real work.
Asking for help can even feel like work. It’s a whole process of figuring out who’s safe, who really means their offer, how many times you can ask before you start to feel like a burden. If that person flakes, now you’re scrambling again. Sometimes it’s just easier to do everything yourself.
Amanda admitted how awkward it is to support someone in grief. You don’t want to say the wrong thing. Visiting feels intimidating. When she said she’d even found herself hesitating, it made sense. Most of us stay away more because we’re unsure, not because we don’t care.
Days slip by. You tell yourself you’ll call when you have enough time. Suddenly, weeks have passed. You see her smiling in a photo with friends and feel relieved and maybe let yourself off the hook. But later, you wish you’d reached out more. Deep inside you know you should have and a tiny part of you feels ashamed you didn’t. Of course, the need doesn’t go away. Maybe she did have a great weekend, but dreads the Monday morning grind just the same. We shouldn’t wait until someone’s falling apart to show up for them.
Talking to Amanda made me rethink what I actually offer when I say I admire someone’s strength. Am I helping or just expecting them to reach out if they need something?
Support truly doesn’t have to be complicated. Maybe your kid and hers go to the same school, you could pick hers up once a week. Drop off a meal. Sit with her while she catches up on paperwork she’s been avoiding. Ask what would really help, be straight about what you have capacity for, and make sure she never has to chase you down to follow through.
Amanda has every reason to feel proud of what she’s managed for herself and her son. Calling her strong is true and it has taken a huge amount. But let’s stay curious about what might actually make her days lighter.
Yes, she’s strong. But even the strongest people need someone to pick up their kid sometimes.
Listen to the full conversation with Amanda Kloots in the debut episode of Dr. Zelana On Being Human, now available on Spotify and Apple Podcasts.
