This is so beautiful, and beautifully honest. I feel really moved, and recognise so much of this as a grieving for so much in life, and in death, and the endless re configuring that we need to do. Thank you, Sophie. Big love ❤️
So beautiful, thank you. I started writing after my parents and grandmother died in 2015 (they died in a four month period) but I didn't get to the writing for another couple of years because - well other big stuff happened too - but when I started writing I couldn't stop. Writing helps me to grieve them individually rather than this mass group grief that happened closer to their deaths. One seeped into the other, I write to grieve the family we had, the family we now have - fragmented and fractured without this trio to connect us, to shore up our foundations. My grief is different eight/nine years down the line. Sometimes I'm not sure how I grieve but then I see, feel the grief come through in my writing. I wrote a post yesterday which on the surface was about writing myself to a standstill, but actually was more about finding different ways to connect with mum outside of simply writing about her in my notebook. Ooof, sorry Sophie, I'm rambling and also, the letter your daughter wrote to your dad. Beautiful.
Thank you so much for reading and for your kindness, Harriet. I just read your post - which I love! - and subscribed.
Interestingly, my daughter has renewed her own piano practice with vigour since losing her Grandad, who also loved to hear her play. It's another way she has of keeping him alive - and we are so grateful, my Mum, my sister and I - that she invites us all into this experience.
I'm so pleased your daughter has picked up the piano again, mine (now 14) completely ignores it but it's there and she may come back to it at some point.
My sister famously said of my violin practice: Does it need oiling? 🤣 I always really wanted to play the clarinet or the sax but was too polite to mention it. Here's to owning our wants. 💜
Thank you for this, Sophie. I have been writing through grief and to keep people alive for a long time now and it's a never-ending process and has been so, so healing. How amazing that your daughter found her way to write through it too. Your post this morning has reminded me of the power of words and I will take this reminder of powerful words into my writing for the day. Thank you.
As the kids say here, all the feels. I still have conversations with my Dad two years after he left ..... maybe because I still need to hear his voice.
Such beautiful words. Thank you. I have found that sudden death has made me freeze and that only by very slow, careful words have I been able to defrost and let my words flow again. I am so sorry for your loss but think you dad would be/is (depending on how you see it!) overjoyed by your words and your daughters. I hope to join your writing classes once I bag a bit more work this year! xx
Thank you so much for reading and for these very kind words, Leslie. You would be so very welcome to join us. If this is too much of a stretch, drop me a line and we'll sort something out.
These words resonate with me and my experience of grief following my dad's sudden death 18 months back, too, Sophie. I'm thinking about how the story of our relationship felt unfinished, but that in writing about him and us, I have the opportunity to keep telling it.
There is yet so much I want to write about the immediate aftermath of his death, which coincided with the end of my psychoanalysis but have been concerned that doing so here would top my Substack into one primarily about grief, which it's not. I'm toying with another memoir proposal right now, though... I just need to make yet more time to live the life I want to be living in order to make it happen...
I am so sorry about your sudden loss of your dad, Lindsay. I love what you say here – that 'the story of our relationship felt unfinished but that in writing about him and us, I have the opportunity to keep telling it.'
I also know exactly what you mean about worrying about what your Substack is 'about.' This is the first personal essay that I've written here - without a Writing Experiment or a 'take away' at the end... I hesitated before posting it because DEAR WRITING has never really felt as if it is 'about me' but about the lovely community of writers that have come here and about trying to support others in their writing... I'm glad I did share it, though, if it resonated with others who are grieving. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and comment. Sending you love.
I’ve had this post saved for a month now and finally made time to read it. Last year I wrote a letter to my grandfather, close to forty years after his passing. I had so much that I needed to say, and it was an important thing to finally allow myself to express that old calcified piece of mourning that never got to express itself. In doing so, it actually changed my memory of him.
I’ve written and spoken a lot to the people in my life who have died, but it took a very long time to learn that. What a miracle that V. has learned that at such a tender age. What a gift! And in reading all the comments, I see how writing is such an integral part of sharing, of building community, of grieving together, and of holding and guiding those who tread similar paths. Thank you for all the different ways you model, expand, and encourage this sacred art.
This is so beautiful, and beautifully honest. I feel really moved, and recognise so much of this as a grieving for so much in life, and in death, and the endless re configuring that we need to do. Thank you, Sophie. Big love ❤️
Thank you for reading - and for your gentle witnessing, Hilary. I really do appreciate your being here in this space. Love right back. 💜✨
So beautiful, thank you. I started writing after my parents and grandmother died in 2015 (they died in a four month period) but I didn't get to the writing for another couple of years because - well other big stuff happened too - but when I started writing I couldn't stop. Writing helps me to grieve them individually rather than this mass group grief that happened closer to their deaths. One seeped into the other, I write to grieve the family we had, the family we now have - fragmented and fractured without this trio to connect us, to shore up our foundations. My grief is different eight/nine years down the line. Sometimes I'm not sure how I grieve but then I see, feel the grief come through in my writing. I wrote a post yesterday which on the surface was about writing myself to a standstill, but actually was more about finding different ways to connect with mum outside of simply writing about her in my notebook. Ooof, sorry Sophie, I'm rambling and also, the letter your daughter wrote to your dad. Beautiful.
Thank you so much for reading and for your kindness, Harriet. I just read your post - which I love! - and subscribed.
Interestingly, my daughter has renewed her own piano practice with vigour since losing her Grandad, who also loved to hear her play. It's another way she has of keeping him alive - and we are so grateful, my Mum, my sister and I - that she invites us all into this experience.
Please keep hitting 'send.' I love your voice.
I'm so pleased your daughter has picked up the piano again, mine (now 14) completely ignores it but it's there and she may come back to it at some point.
My sister famously said of my violin practice: Does it need oiling? 🤣 I always really wanted to play the clarinet or the sax but was too polite to mention it. Here's to owning our wants. 💜
Thank you for this, Sophie. I have been writing through grief and to keep people alive for a long time now and it's a never-ending process and has been so, so healing. How amazing that your daughter found her way to write through it too. Your post this morning has reminded me of the power of words and I will take this reminder of powerful words into my writing for the day. Thank you.
Thank you so much for reading, Candi. Keep writing. ✨
As the kids say here, all the feels. I still have conversations with my Dad two years after he left ..... maybe because I still need to hear his voice.
Such an important part of a person, their voice... I wish I'd made so much more video.
Yes, incredibly I only have a 2 second clip but I still remember the tone, timbre of his voice.
I can feel his voice, if that makes sense...
Yes, I know what you mean by that. 💚
Such beautiful words. Thank you. I have found that sudden death has made me freeze and that only by very slow, careful words have I been able to defrost and let my words flow again. I am so sorry for your loss but think you dad would be/is (depending on how you see it!) overjoyed by your words and your daughters. I hope to join your writing classes once I bag a bit more work this year! xx
Thank you so much for reading and for these very kind words, Leslie. You would be so very welcome to join us. If this is too much of a stretch, drop me a line and we'll sort something out.
Thanks Sophie. Is there a way to DM you? x
sophie@sophienicholls.com
Absolutely gorgeous writing. Thank you for sharing your beautiful words.
Thank you so much, Mahabba. ✨
These words resonate with me and my experience of grief following my dad's sudden death 18 months back, too, Sophie. I'm thinking about how the story of our relationship felt unfinished, but that in writing about him and us, I have the opportunity to keep telling it.
There is yet so much I want to write about the immediate aftermath of his death, which coincided with the end of my psychoanalysis but have been concerned that doing so here would top my Substack into one primarily about grief, which it's not. I'm toying with another memoir proposal right now, though... I just need to make yet more time to live the life I want to be living in order to make it happen...
I am so sorry about your sudden loss of your dad, Lindsay. I love what you say here – that 'the story of our relationship felt unfinished but that in writing about him and us, I have the opportunity to keep telling it.'
I also know exactly what you mean about worrying about what your Substack is 'about.' This is the first personal essay that I've written here - without a Writing Experiment or a 'take away' at the end... I hesitated before posting it because DEAR WRITING has never really felt as if it is 'about me' but about the lovely community of writers that have come here and about trying to support others in their writing... I'm glad I did share it, though, if it resonated with others who are grieving. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and comment. Sending you love.
I know so well that compulsion to write through something, and it's so lovely to read this here. And what a wonderful example to your daughter, too.
Thank you so much for reading, Lily. Writing is the thread...
I’ve had this post saved for a month now and finally made time to read it. Last year I wrote a letter to my grandfather, close to forty years after his passing. I had so much that I needed to say, and it was an important thing to finally allow myself to express that old calcified piece of mourning that never got to express itself. In doing so, it actually changed my memory of him.
I’ve written and spoken a lot to the people in my life who have died, but it took a very long time to learn that. What a miracle that V. has learned that at such a tender age. What a gift! And in reading all the comments, I see how writing is such an integral part of sharing, of building community, of grieving together, and of holding and guiding those who tread similar paths. Thank you for all the different ways you model, expand, and encourage this sacred art.
Thank you so much, Eric - and thank you for being here in this community. Thinking of you as you remember your grandfather.