Grief is never simple. It bends, twists, and takes shapes you don’t expect, especially when the person you’ve lost is someone with whom your history is far from easy. For Kelly Clarkson, the loss of her ex-husband Brandon Blackstock is one of those moments — a collision of emotions, memories, and realities that don’t fit neatly into any one box.
Kelly and Brandon’s story was not one of quiet endings. Their romance began in the public eye, their wedding in 2013 felt like a fairy-tale moment, and their marriage lasted almost a decade. But in its later chapters, it became a marriage defined by public legal battles, tabloid headlines, and a bitter divorce. They share two children — River Rose, now 11, and Remy Alexander, now 9 — and that alone made their lives permanently intertwined, even after they officially ended things in March 2022. Brandon also had two other children, Seth and Savannah, from previous relationships. No matter the tension between them, there was always family in the mix.
Clarkson had been open about the storm of emotions that came with the breakup. In a 2023 interview with USA TODAY, she admitted she had been “very, very angry” during and after the split. “I know a lot of people have gone through grief or a big tragedy like a divorce, and I know it’s a common thing, unfortunately,” she said. “But there’s nothing common when you’re going through it. It’s very foreign. It’s horrible. A lot of time stupid, stupid stuff gets said, and you just can’t believe it. I was angry and really hurt.”
That was her reality — a reality in which her trust had been tested, her patience worn thin, and her sense of self reshaped. Which is why the news of Brandon’s illness and death has pulled her into one of life’s most difficult emotional landscapes: grieving someone who caused you deep pain.
In early August, Clarkson announced she’d be stepping away from her Las Vegas residency, Kelly Clarkson: Studio Sessions, at The Colosseum at Caesars Palace. She told her fans she needed to be present for her children, revealing that their father had been ill. While she typically kept her personal life private, this was a moment she could not keep under wraps. “This past year, my children’s father has been ill and at this moment, I need to be fully present for them,” she wrote. Those words carried the weight of both duty and love — a recognition that no matter what happened between her and Brandon, her children’s pain had to come first.
Just a day later, Brandon’s family confirmed he had died at the age of 48 after “bravely battling cancer for more than three years.” His death closed a chapter in Clarkson’s life that had been full of contradictions, but it also opened the door to an entirely new wave of complicated emotions.
Mental health experts note that this type of grief — losing an ex or someone with whom you had a troubled relationship — is often messy and difficult to navigate. Stephanie Sarkis, a psychotherapist, explained that it’s natural to hold two conflicting truths at once: “One is, ‘The way they treated me was not OK.’ And also, ‘I can feel sad for my kids that their father died at such a young age.’ You could even feel sad because I wish he would’ve been a different person.” That kind of honesty gives permission for people like Clarkson to not feel forced into a singular, socially approved emotional reaction.
For those outside the public eye, the grief process in such situations can already be exhausting. Add in the glare of fame, media speculation, and the constant churn of public opinion, and the process becomes even more tangled. Clarkson’s life is a constant balance between her role as a mother, her career as a performer and talk show host, and her own private self. Now, she also has to carry the role of helping her children process the loss of their father, all while acknowledging her own history with him.
Sarkis points out that in these moments, especially when children are involved, the question to ask yourself is: “What’s the best way I can help my kids through this, while still acknowledging that this person did not treat me the way I should have been treated?” For Clarkson, this might mean holding space for her children’s grief without sugarcoating the past. It could mean sharing stories that reflect the love their father had for them, while also being honest about the complexities of their family’s history when the time is right.
The death of an ex can trigger a storm of emotions — some immediate, some delayed. For many, there’s shock. Brandon had been battling cancer for over three years, but the public was largely unaware of the details until the very end. When someone dies, especially if it feels sudden to you, the ground shifts beneath your feet. You are left without warning, without time to prepare, and without the chance to neatly tie up unfinished conversations. This can create its own trauma, one that sits quietly until moments or memories bring it back to the surface.
Grief expert David Kessler has spoken about how grief is influenced not just by the relationship you had with the person who died, but also by your upbringing, cultural background, religion, and family patterns. This means that two people mourning the same person can have entirely different grief experiences — and both can be valid. Some may feel deep sorrow; others might feel relief, guilt, regret, or even indifference. And many will feel several of those emotions all at once.
Shavonne Moore-Lobban, another expert in mental health and grief, notes that age, developmental stage, and even societal expectations about gender can affect how we grieve. Children process loss differently than adults, often moving in and out of sadness in bursts rather than staying in it for long stretches. Adults might wrestle with the long-term implications, the “what ifs,” and the emotional loose ends. There’s also the reality that in many cultures, certain expressions of grief are more “acceptable” than others, which can lead people to suppress emotions that don’t fit the mold.
Regret often plays a starring role in these moments. Even if your last conversation with someone was peaceful, there can still be a lingering sense of incompleteness. Maybe there were words left unsaid, boundaries never mended, or conflicts that never found resolution. Moore-Lobban points out that both sadness and anger can surface after a loss, and often, these emotions are tied to the human desire to make sense of something that feels senseless.
For Clarkson, this may mean not only grappling with the memory of their years together but also revisiting the difficult moments — the courtroom battles, the disagreements over money and custody, the media narratives that followed them around. At the same time, she will likely be faced with the more tender memories: the joy of becoming parents together, the private jokes, the shared milestones before things fell apart.
The public will have opinions, as it always does, but grief is not a performance. It doesn’t follow a neat script, and it certainly doesn’t owe anyone a simple explanation. Clarkson may feel sadness one moment, frustration the next, and perhaps even relief at times. She may find herself remembering Brandon as a man who hurt her deeply, and also as the father of her children — a man who, in his own way, loved them.
There is no “right” way to mourn someone like Brandon Blackstock. The important thing, as mental health professionals stress, is to acknowledge the full range of your emotions without judgment. For Clarkson, her priority will likely remain her children. Helping them grieve their father while managing her own complicated feelings is a delicate balancing act, one that will unfold over months and years rather than days.
Grief in the public eye can be an especially isolating experience. Even with millions of fans offering condolences, the true work of mourning happens in quiet moments — in the car on the way to school, in the silence after the kids go to bed, in the unexpected rush of memory when a song plays. For someone like Clarkson, whose life is often lived on camera, these private spaces may be the only places she can let the weight of it all truly sink in.
The loss of Brandon Blackstock marks the end of a chapter, but not the end of the story. The grief will shift and change, just as her feelings about him will. Over time, she may find moments of peace, understanding, or even forgiveness. Or she may not. Both outcomes are possible, and both are human.
For now, what matters is that she — and anyone navigating this kind of loss — gives themselves permission to feel it all: the love, the pain, the regret, the relief, the sadness, and the hope for healing. Grief is complicated. Life is complicated. And sometimes, the only thing to do is acknowledge that complexity and keep moving forward, one day at a time.