By Stacy Lee Kong

Content warning: This newsletter contains mentions of suicide.

Amanda Katz’s mom passed away seven years ago. Ever since, she’s been trying to find a space to talk about that grief—and community with other like-minded people who understand what she’s going through. But nothing ever quite felt right. In fact, the support groups and other grief-focused spaces that currently exist feel, in her words, kind of icky. So, she decided to create a one. She calls it Motherless Day; part event and fundraiser for CAMH, part community, it’s an space where people who have lost their moms can cry and laugh, and most importantly, feel seen. This is obviously an important—and timely—project, but I was also really interested in the way Amanda speaks about grief through Motherless Day. So, we chatted about the need for a different type of grief community, the thinking behind the tone and aesthetic and why it’s so hard for people to talk about death in the first place.

Tell me about Motherless Day—what is it, what inspired it and how did it come about? 

I lost my mom seven years ago, when I was 21, and in the years since, the tough days have ebbed and flowed. It can be a birthday, it can be the anniversary of her passing, but it could also be any day of the week where some memory comes up. But I think anybody who has lost their mom can share in the weirdness and the sadness of Mother's Day. There's a hallmark version of what the day is supposed to look like: you go out for a cute brunch, you buy some flowers, maybe you have a little dinner with your family. My sister and I [usually] find corners of the city and cool little spots that our mom would have loved, or maybe introduced us to many years ago, but we'd avoid places that had that version of that quintessential Mother's Day, because it felt like it wasn't the place for us. This year, rather than spend the day running from what that thing is, and feeling like the day doesn't exist for us anymore, [I thought], ‘Maybe I can change the narrative. Maybe we can reframe the conversation and create a space that yes, is commemorative to our moms and holding space for them, but is also a celebratory experience of who they were, with people who won't pretend to know exactly how you feel, even if they do.’ So, it's really a place to come together and hold space for people who feel like they need it on that day, for whatever reason, whether their mom passed away, or they're estranged from their mom, or maybe they wanted to be a mom and the opportunity didn't come their way. It's a space for anybody that feels like one doesn't exist for them on that day. 

What you said about creating a space where you can be surrounded by people who won't pretend to know how you feel, even though they do, really jumped out at me. Why is that important to you?

After my mom passed away, I went back to school—I was in fourth year of university at the time—and there was a guy in my year who had lost his dad a few months before. He probably doesn't remember this moment, but I remember going to my first party, and seeing him and giving each other a hug. We didn't say anything. He literally wouldn't know that this was him if he ever read this, but just knowing that somebody could resonate with some element of [what I was going through], there was a lot of relief and comfort in that.

One of the things that I’m trying to do with Motherless Day is create community on that day, but also beyond the day, so you can have somebody to turn to if you want to tell a story about your mom, or you want to cry about your mom, or you want to do all those things that you feel like your friends don't necessarily have time for. When you’re experiencing something that can be so isolating, it can feel like you don't have a community, so being surrounded by people who have a shared experience is really powerful. In most of the rooms that we're in, people can't resonate with the experience of our loss, and they don't want to bring it up because they're worried about how you’ll react—like, if a friend brings up my loss, if it going to derail me, or bring me back to a certain place? But I think talking about things can be so cathartic, and so therapeutic.

But any form of checking in is beautiful and appreciated. I think one of the best things that people can do is tell each other that you're there for them. It can be talking, it can be sitting, it can be being on the phone in silence. Just knowing that people are there for you in a genuine way is important.

Right—even if someone checks in on their grieving loved ones ‘imperfectly,’ it’s still meaningful. But I think what you’re getting at when you talk about people being afraid of ‘derailing’ you is really interesting because it speaks to this wider societal discomfort with talking about grief. What do you think is the deal there?

I find it so strange because death is a natural part of life. Every one of us, in some way, is going to experience the loss of somebody that holds meaning in our lives. And we're all going to die one day. That's a human truth. So, I don't know why it's always been so taboo to talk about death. Sometimes, I don't want to bring up my mom to other people because I'm nervous about the discomfort they're going to feel, when it's me who is impacted the most poignantly by this loss. I don't know if it’s that a lot of people don't talk about the tough times that they're going through because they want to focus on the nice things, but I just like speaking about all of it. I find that there's relief in honesty. And I think it's important to have conversations about grief. Not only for catharsis or relief, but also because speaking about the people that are gone allows them to live longer. That's why I love talking about my mom. I love sharing stories about her. I wish my partner had been able to meet her.

There’s also a lot of logistical elements when somebody passes away, and I think because we don't talk about death, people find themselves in a state of paralysis when they lose someone. If we can make this thing a part of conversations, we can be together in a different way. 

My mom passed away by suicide, and she suffered from bipolar disorder her whole life. I talk about that now because that is a reality of things, but I'm also finding it important to talk about these things, especially now. Mental health challenges were really taboo to talk about, suicide is really taboo to talk about, but they shouldn’t be. That's why people don't feel like they can seek support. The outpouring of support, and love that came after my mom passed away—who probably felt really, really alone, which is why she's not here with us anymore—shouldn't come after the fact. Community and knowing that people are there for you can go such a long way, which is why I'm a strong believer in the power of checking in with everybody. 

In addition to creating space and community with Motherless Day, it's also a fundraiser for the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health, because there's so much work that needs to happen within that space. More people are talking about mental health nowadays, but the research is so behind. The cause is close to home for me, but I know this is not everybody's experience of loss. Still, I think we all can either resonate with elements or just know people who have struggled. Regardless of the way that your mom passed, I think there's an empathy and understanding that it’s an important thing for all of us to invest in.

Absolutely. I’m also really interested in the way you’re approaching tone and aesthetic, because it really doesn’t feel like the way we usually talk about Mother’s Day or grief.

We really wanted to do something that didn't just dwell on the sad parts, but also leans into the positive. Not to poke fun at anything—we're not trying to make a joke out of loss or anything like that—but just to change the tone.

I think so much of the conversation around grief really leans into the sadness of it all. A lot of rooms that exist today for people without moms, or for people without parents… no disrespect, of course, to any of the ways that those exist, but they feel very icky to me. I worked with a copywriter, Ariel Riske, and an illustrator, Sophie Berg, who really helped bring the vision to life. Ariel lost her mom at a young age, so immediately when I wanted to do this, I reached out to her to set that tone. Some of the lines that she came up with are “the pity party that you actually want to go to,” or “finding healing on a Hallmark holiday”—it's contrasting a sad thing with a celebration. That contrast is something that we're trying to feel and bring into every element of the event, whether it's through the wilting bouquet of flowers in our logo, or the lines that we're using.

I’d be curious if there’s something generational about the appeal of this tone and aesthetic, because to me, it feels like it’s acknowledging sadness in a way that feels… younger, almost? I’ve seen lots of observations around younger people, and specifically Gen Z, particularly liking dark humour, so I wonder if there's something there.

When I was trying to find people that would resonate with this, I was like, okay, well, where are spaces that people go when they're grieving? So, I reached out to random therapists and I posted in grief groups on Facebook. I've never been a part of grief groups because that's not the sort of thing that gives me relief, but I joined them because I wanted to share and make sure that anybody who felt like they needed space on this day knew about it. And getting notifications from those things… I don't like to use the word ‘depresses,’ but it's no wonder a lot of people are struggling, because all of the narrative around this is really dark—and not humorous dark, just dark. My mom had bipolar disorder for almost her entire life and she passed away by suicide. Those are real things. Those are really tough things to go through. But if I dwelt on the guilt that all of us feel with her passing or all of the harsh parts of those realities, then I wouldn't be able to get up and get out of bed every day.

Regardless of how your mom passed away, I wanted [to acknowledge that] you carry these people with you, the good and the bad. Shohana Sharmin, a comedian who started something with a couple of other people called the Dead Parents Society, performed at Motherless Day. She speaks a lot about, and tells stories about, death in her work. I remember her telling me that she didn't wake up the day after her mom passed away being like, ‘I want to do comedy about this.’ She wasn't ready for that. But over time, she found these little moments where she was like, ‘Wait, dealing with this part of my grief is funny.’ And then she was like, ‘Well, why shouldn't we talk about these things? Why shouldn't we create a room where we can laugh?’ Laughter creates community, so I think having these positive elements actually encourages us to connect more.

What’s next for Motherless Day? What else do you want to happen in this community?

It's definitely something that I want to continue to build beyond the day, so I'm still going to continue to nurture this community. I want it to exist not just on Mother's Day, which is one day that's hard, but all the time. I want people to have people who they can relate to and speak to. I've also had a lot of people approach me and say they wished that they had this on Father's Day, or I wish that I had this on Christmas, or even Valentine's day. I've only experienced my experience, but I would also love to work with people that share in that version of their loss to create a community that can exist for them. I like making stuff happen, so I don't know what that's going to look like, but it's not ending on May 12th. It's definitely something that I'm hoping can evolve into something greater that more people can access.

To join the Motherless Day community, follow Amanda on Instagram. You can also still donate to the CAMH fundraiser!

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