Writing Through Loss and Grief

A guest post by Anne Pinkerton

In my teens and twenties, I was determined to be a writer. I wrote a lot of not-great poetry and some decent song lyrics, but let go of my personal writing to focus on what paid — penning ad copy at marketing jobs — until, when I was 35, my big brother David suddenly died.

When someone you love who’s in their prime dies out of the blue, it does a couple of things to you: makes the whole world feel upside down, and emphasizes with the sharpest, most unapologetic clarity how fragile life is — offering a swift kick in the pants to do what matters most to you.

First, I had to deal with the upside-down feeling. Because after the first few weeks, everyone else went back to their lives, and I couldn’t focus on anything other than the loss of my beloved brother. I was mired in my emotions, stuck wondering what happened, sad beyond measure. I went back to therapy, which was helpful, but not enough. I wore out friends with all my talking and crying. My then-husband tired of my mourning. I was in terrible pain and as lonely as I’ve ever been.

I looked for books, websites, and grief groups that didn’t exist. Everything was for parents, spouses, and children; nothing existed for brothers and sisters except one title, The Empty Room by Elizabeth DeVita-Raeburn, about the experience of losing her brother and talking to other siblings about their losses. I’ve read that book more times than I can count because it was the only thing that confirmed I wasn’t the only one in the history of the world who had felt like I did.

I was also very lucky that a work friend told me she’d benefitted from a local bereavement writing group after a friend of hers died. It was open to anyone who wanted to process a death of someone on the page. It was in this space that I was finally able to successfully work through my feelings — in equal parts because language had always been my creative tool of choice, and because the sense of community in the room was something I’d been desperately missing while grieving.

We were guided by a loving former hospital chaplain, hugely familiar with helping people come to terms with death, who provided readings and prompts. She made the space feel safe and sacred, lighting a candle, doing a brief meditation to open each session, and assuring our privacy. When I began to read my work to the eight or so other attendees, I was stunned. I felt I had finally begun to access something important about what I had gone through, that it was making me feel better, and that it actually resonated with others.

Knowing you are not alone is one of the most reassuring human sensations we can have.

When I first started writing about my experience of David’s death, I never imagined it would become a book. It didn’t even occur to me that anyone outside of that little bereavement writing group would ever read my words or could possibly care. But that experience lit a spark — one that took me to additional writing workshops, a graduate school program for creative nonfiction, writing retreats, and a publishing contract.

Being able to process the agony of losing David through words was the exact gift I needed. It gave me consolation and kinship, helped me honor all I’d gone through, and brought me closer to my brother — even after death. It was cathartic, it was healing, and it offered the control to shape my story.

Writing through my loss also reminded me that I always wanted to be a writer, and now (despite still paying the bills through a marketing gig), I can say that I am. Perhaps most gratifying, it allowed me to extend a hand to another bereaved person, someone just like me back then, to say to them, you aren’t alone.

We are thrilled to be host a three-week workshop led by Anne Pinkerton, starting March 24th, “Writing Through Loss and Grief.”

Anne Pinkerton is an essayist, memoirist, and poet. Her work often circles around grief and loss, as well as coping with these painful realities in our lives.

She is the author of Were You Close? a sister's quest to know the brother she lost (Vine Leaves Press, 2023).