3 Ways to Write Through Grief (That Don’t Involve Journaling)

When you’re grieving, people often tell you to write it out. To keep a journal. To pour your heart onto the page. But what if journaling doesn’t feel right? What if your words need a different shape, a different purpose?

For me, writing through grief has taken many forms - a birthday card, a postcard, even a book. Each one has helped me stay connected to the person I love and find meaning in the moments that hurt the most.

This week I hit one of those dreaded milestone days – his birthday.

He should be here celebrating being a year older. Instead, all I had to keep me going where the memories of last year when he was here. The birthday cake that we shared, presents opened and promises of another year together.

The thing is, just because someone isn’t here it doesn’t mean that the urge to buy them a birthday card or a birthday cake disappears.

I walked past the birthday card stand at the supermarket and my heart broke (again). But then I realised there is no law that stipulates that you cannot buy a birthday card.

There is also no law that says you cannot buy a birthday cake either.

Don’t get me wrong there will be people who will question you, wonder if it helps your grieving process. They may even give you an eye roll when you offer them a slice of birthday cake. These are the people who do remind you that you are grieving, as you feel the need to justify your actions (yet again).

There are things that I chose not to share now because I am tired of the questioning look I get when I say things such as “I sang Happy Birthday to him”.

In a world that doesn’t like to discuss grief, there are those that are quick to judge when you do share the coping skills that work for you.

It hurts everyday, but what I have come to find is that these ‘big’ days don’t hurt as much as the days either side.

I prepared myself for his birthday. I knew I wanted to buy a cake, a card and order a takeaway. We knew that on that day we would remember him. The world gave us permission to talk about him.

But the days either side are the quiet days where grief takes over (yet again) and life feels unbearable

I sat and wrote his birthday card and told him of the people who had messaged and the cake that we got for him. I shared with him the story of the decorated stone I found that morning on my walk. When I turned it over there were painted words that said ‘You are loved’. I thanked him for the sign.

I popped his card in the envelope and sealed it up and placed it with all the other letters I’ve written to him since he’s been gone.

Yes it is painful, and it does make me sad, but grief must be felt. You can’t outrun grief as it will follow you and find you. I wish I had a magic cure to make life better, but I don’t. Instead I chose to write.

Since he died writing has been the one outlet that I can use that allows me to be me. I don’t have to hide anything, people please, or avoid the subject of death to make others feel comfortable.

And when I write to Paul, I write to the one person that knew me best.

The first letter I wrote to him was a few days after his death. The funeral was being arranged and there were questions that I needed answers to. Was he happy with the choices I was making, did I pick the right suit to dress him in? I needed someone to guide me.

A few days after his funeral I came across a Christmas present he gave me. It was a weekend break for two in a European city. We had planned to go away, but a few weeks after Christmas he became ill and that trip was forgotten about.

In desperate need of a break I booked a trip to Seville with my daughter. This is somewhere that eventually we wanted to visit, so now I had to visit it for the both of us.

There is a guilt that comes with grief that no-one prepares you for. The guilt is because you are living and they are not. You are visiting places and they are not. You are experiencing life, and they are not.

So I bought a postcard and wrote to him from Seville.

I told him about the beautiful sunset we saw, how I felt close to him when we were flying above the clouds and the ‘magical mystery tour’ I organised. The first time Paul and I went away together I put together a ‘magical mystery tour’. Over the years I put together many more of these tours in all the places that we visited.

Writing has helped me through my grief in so many different ways and this was one of the reasons why I wrote his memoirs. It gave me a closeness and a connection to him that I’ve not experienced from any other activity. It also gave me a focus, a place to put my grieving energy.

When the idea came to me about writing the book I decided to write a letter to myself from Paul. This letter gave me the permission and the encouragement I needed to write. I even created a Letter of Promise which I had to sign.

Writing doesn’t have to be a daily thing in a journal. I’ve tried and failed many times to turn myself into Bridget Jones and write a diary. I’ve also tried daily gratitude, but stopped before I really got started. It’s not that I don’t find things to be grateful for, I just have never felt a desire to write them down.

What I have found that has worked for me, is writing the letters and the cards. It’s within these that I feel I can speak directly to him, and can hear him back. One day my grief can consume me and there’s no writing that I can do that helps, but then there are days when the house is quiet and I just need to feel him. Each piece of writing has helped me to process a different part of my grief.

It doesn’t take the pain away, but it gives it a place to go. It’s how I process and make sense of the world that I now live in. It reminds me that life still goes on and shows me how far I’ve come.

Despite what grief takes, writing helps me find a meaning.

So yes, I will still buy the birthday cards and the postcards, and I will still continue to write his book. Love doesn’t end when someone dies, if anything, it grows stronger.

If you’re grieving and want to find your own way to write, to remember, and to stay connected, I’ve shared seven simple writing activities that might help you begin. You don’t have to be a writer, you just have to be willing to feel.

There’s no right or wrong way to grieve, or to write. There is only your way.