For some, festive occasions like Mother's Day don't feel like cause for celebration. Such is the case for former TV producer Michelle Hord, whose 7-year-old daughter Gabrielle was murdered two decades after Hord lost her own mother. Though the author of The Other Side of Yet: Finding a Light in the Midst of Darkness recently told E! News she struggles with the tragedy of her loss "every day," May 8 is circled on her calendar as particularly tough.
And she knows she's not alone. As she grapples with her own grief, the 52-year-old wanted to help others through theirs. In an essay penned for E!, Hord, who founded nonprofit Gabrielle's Wings in her daughter's honor, shared her best just-get-through-it tips and a heart-wrenching message to her beloved mom and daughter.
Holidays can be hard. They evoke memories—or sometimes a painful lack thereof—about families, rituals and relationships. They remind us of a past that perhaps is no longer a possibility.
The one-dimensional images of holidays we see on social media can almost feel cruel if you don't have a card or loving family dinner snapshot to share with the world. And days like Mother's Day can carry a special kind of sting.
Since I lost my mother more than half my life ago, the onslaught of commercials, spam, and suggested "perfect gifts for perfect mothers" every year has been difficult. When I was blessed to give birth to my own daughter in 2009, while it didn't erase the pain of losing my mom, having Gabrielle gave me a new chapter to celebrate. Tragically, that chapter was cruelly cut short and seven years later I was left as a motherless daughter and a daughterless mother. So, I am writing this for all of us who are not looking forward to this day. I am speaking to anyone who is grieving instead of celebrating this Mother's Day.
I know. It sucks. The constant reminders that make the hole in your heart feel even bigger. I won't pretend to know exactly how you feel, but whether it is grieving the loss of a child, a parent or even a painful relationship with a child or parent, there is nothing that can replace what you miss. Yet, there are things you can do to take care of yourself on tough days like today. I like to think of it as holding tight to my "S.P.I.R.I.T."
S — Survive. Do what you need to do to get through the day. Be kind to yourself and honest with others about what you need. There are no rules. Do what works for you.
P — Praise, another word for gratitude. Even in grief or depression, there are moments we can be grateful for like beautiful memories and other loving relationships in our lives.
I — Impact. Sometimes on the darkest days you have to make your own light. How can you think beyond your own pain and lift someone else up? I know, it sounds crazy. But I have found that making a meal for a friend, or volunteering at a shelter can be great ways to give you perspective and may warm your heart too.
R — Reflect. Yes. You wish you could just fast forward past today. But remind yourself how strong you are…what you've already survived…. how you have coped with this loss and perhaps other losses in your life. That warrior in you is still there…cheering you on…even on the hardest days.
I — Imagine. Perhaps particularly difficult on a day when you are feeling empty. But what else can you look forward to in your life? Beyond your present circumstance, will you dare to imagine new hope? New trust? New love? New supportive family relationships?
T — Testify. If like me, this isn't your first difficult Mother's Day, grab someone by the hand. Tell your story. You may give someone help and you may give yourself hope. I remember cooking for dear friends on Mother's Day 2017 as they spent their first holiday without their mom. Ironically it would be the last Mother's Day that I would have with my daughter. And if you are looking for a way to connect to that love that you miss so desperately, perhaps even consider writing to your loved one. It isn't easy, but like most brave and difficult things, it can be a beautiful and tangible way to commemorative not just what you lost but what you were blessed enough to HAVE.
So, today I am writing a love letter to my mother and my daughter. I hope it feels like a warm hug for you too.
Dear Mom and Gabi Bear,
My breath halts even at the thought of writing to you both...of seeing your names side by side. Together. Imagining the two of you dancing among the clouds and watching me stumble through the dark here below.
Days like Mother's Day are the hardest. Yet, I am grateful. I am grateful that I experienced the security and confidence of a mother's love and had the privilege to share that with my own little girl. I am grateful for the signs you send me, both nuanced and overt, that affirm my soul's most sincere belief: You are so very close although just beyond my grasp.
When I prepared to go to college, I imagined having one of those fancy Lane hope chests. I would see the girl and her mother on the brochure, passing down varsity cheerleading sweaters, maybe pieces of china...I never got my Lane hope chest, so when you died, mom, and a few years after I graduated from college, I hungrily gathered any materials of yours that I could find to try to piece together the trail from girlhood to womanhood. Finding a craft...Taking a husband...making a home...becoming a mother...
Gabrielle Eileen, my Gabi Bear, YOU became my heart's hope chest. Your life is a testimony in which I carefully smoothed out the rough edges, when possible. I tried to blaze a path of pride and create new rituals, ones to connect you to my mom and our elders who walked the earth like giants before us.
Now I imagine you both…Gabrielle Eileen and Cora Eileen sitting together and opening the hope chest of my heart...marveling at what your mother and daughter did for you both in loving honor and profound grief. You are together now. Free. Safe. At rest.
Yet, I am still here. I will not waiver in my faith. I will not waiver in my path. Because that, mommy, is the fortitude you and your mother and your mother's mother planted deep in the soil of my soul. I will celebrate your memories. I will nurture what remains. I will tell your stories.
There are parts of my "before" story that I will always miss. Holidays and random days spent together. Laughing. Living. Creating memories effortlessly and not even realizing it. Yet, I have also learned that I can have a new story. A new "after" life. There's a space in my heart where I continue to carry my love and loss for you both, side by side with new love and new hope and new memories.
Thank you both for choosing me. I am honored to be the connection in your feminine chain. I promise to always work to make you proud.
Love Always. Your daughter and your mother.
Michelle
Poem written Mother's Day 2019
Motherless Daughter
Daughterless Mother
I miss Mom in years...
I count my baby's loss in weeks
As I did while she rested in womb
I hear in their whispers
"If you can feel the ache
And see memories anywhere
Then we are still here
We must exist everywhere"
They are both in kissing distance
And beyond the horizon
Through the wind in the trees
And the breeze across my face
In the laughter and cadence
Of other mothers and daughters
Who make me smile and remember
When I could still embrace both
I can't escape the pain
I can't outrun the shock
Yet I can't lose their love
Or miss their many signs
Beckoning me towards joy
We share space beyond time
As it always was
Skin, hair and eyes
Were mere earth-bound affirmations
Of love that spans the ages
There they are
In faint outline
On a distant Jordan shore
No, I'm never alone
In the noonday sun
Chasing a sunset
Sliding down a rainbow
Both Holding tight to my hands
Vibrant spirits, still
Souls of strength across the horizon
Through the present dreams of ancestors
Beyond the mortal measures of meter or time
Flesh of my flesh
Despite time and miles
Throughout the generations
We shall remain