There is a club no one ever asks to join. Its members are initiated by sudden, gut-wrenching tragedy, and its dues are paid in sleepless nights and a lifetime of navigating the world after it has been irrevocably broken. Amanda Kloots became a member in July 2020. Erika Kirk was inducted on September 10, 2025.

They are both members of the sorority of young, public widows, and in a recent podcast appearance, Kloots reached across the ether to share with Kirk the one piece of wisdom that gets a member through the day.

The message had nothing to do with politics, public statements, or the daunting task of carrying on a legacy.

It was simpler, more primal, and infinitely more powerful. Speaking on the We’re Out of Time podcast, Amanda Kloots recalled the words her own mother-in-law shared as her husband, Broadway star Nick Cordero, lay dying from COVID-19. “She said, ‘[Your son] Elvis will save you, and his smile every day will make you want to get up and live.’ It’s true.”

Then, Kloots directed the sentiment to a woman she has never met, but whose pain she understands with a searing intimacy. “And that’s what I would tell [Erika] — that your kids, like… you have a purpose.”

It’s a deceptively simple piece of advice, but for women experiencing the disorienting vortex of grief, it is an anchor. Kloots’ own journey has been a public testament to this truth.

In the five years since Cordero’s death, she has used her platform not only to honor his memory but to openly document the realities of her widowhood and her life as a single mother to their son, Elvis. Her experience has given her an unfortunate but undeniable authority on the subject of loss.

She understands the questions that haunt the quiet moments: “What’s my purpose? Why did this happen?” For her, the answer was found in the promises she made to her late husband and the future she had to build for their child.

In Erika Kirk’s own public statements, one can already hear the echoes of this maternal purpose.

Standing before tens of thousands at her husband Charlie Kirk’s memorial service, she spoke of their family, of his role as a father, and of the love notes he wrote that chronicled their gratitude for “our babies.”

While her speech was a masterclass in political succession and spiritual resolve—publicly forgiving her husband’s assassin and accepting the role of CEO for his organization, Turning Point USA—the foundation of her strength was rooted in the family they built. Her new public mission is inextricably linked to her private role as a mother to their three-year-old daughter and one-year-old son.

The public nature of their circumstances adds a layer of complexity to their grief that few can comprehend. Mourning is a deeply personal, messy, and unpredictable process. To navigate it under the glare of a national spotlight is an almost impossible task.

Every statement is scrutinized, every appearance analyzed. For Amanda Kloots, her public vulnerability became a source of connection for thousands who saw their own losses reflected in hers. For Erika Kirk, her public strength is now the bedrock upon which a major political movement will build its future.

They are both processing an unbearable private loss while simultaneously serving a public role.

What makes Kloots’ message so poignant is that it transcends the stark differences in their public lives. Nick Cordero was a beloved actor and musician. Charlie Kirk was a polarizing and powerful conservative activist. In a nation defined by deep political and cultural divides, their widows could easily be seen as occupying opposing worlds.

Yet, the experience of widowhood, of becoming a young mother’s sole protector and guide, is a fundamental human reality that obliterates those divisions. The pain of explaining a father’s absence to a child is the same no matter your political affiliation. The challenge of finding a new purpose in the wreckage of a shattered life is a universal one.

Kloots’ outreach is a powerful act of empathy, a recognition that beneath the headlines are two women who must now figure out how to make breakfast, tie shoes, and read bedtime stories alone. It is a testament to an informal, unspoken sisterhood of those who have endured the unimaginable and a reminder that in times of profound loss, the most resonant advice often comes from those who have walked the same fire.

For Erika Kirk, the days and years ahead will be filled with the immense pressures of her new public role. But the wisdom offered by Amanda Kloots suggests her true north, her reason to get up and live, will be found far from the podiums and cameras, in the smiles of the children who are her husband’s most precious legacy.