The Quiet Grief of Writing Cards

There are some parts of grief we expect, Anniversaries, Birthdays, Christmas Day itself, and then there are the quieter moments that catch us off guard.

Today, I wrote Christmas cards for our neighbours.

Writing cards is something I’ve found difficult for many years. Not because I don’t care, but because writing names on a card can make absence suddenly very real despite the timeframe.

When you’ve lost someone, there’s a strange finality in not writing their name. A pause before the pen moves. A moment where the world has changed, and you’re the one holding it.

Since the most unimaginable loss, and later, further losses of loved ones, I’ve often found card-writing hard. Later, after separation, it became harder still. Cards that once came from “us” now came from a different shape of family. And over time, I’ve noticed it in others too, neighbours whose cards now carry one name instead of two, following the loss of a partner.

These changes are small on the surface. But emotionally, they can feel enormous.

What I don’t often hear spoken about is the anxiety that can come with these moments, the quiet pressure to “get it right”. Who do I include? Who do I leave off?What does it mean if I write one name and not another?

Sometimes I notice a real urgency in myself when I do this, a need to just get it done, not to be interrupted, to keep moving before the feeling catches up with me.

What we don’t often talk about is how grief shows up in ordinary rituals. In envelopes. In handwriting. In moments we think we “should be fine” with by now.

Sometimes, avoiding these rituals is the only way we know how to cope. If we can get away with not sending a card, we do. Not because we’re unkind, but because the feeling underneath feels too much.

This year, I chose to write them anyway. Not because it felt easy, but because it felt honest.

And it reminded me of something important:Struggling with these moments doesn’t mean we’re stuck in the past. It means we’re still connected to love.

So if you find certain traditions hard, cards, gatherings, names, anniversaries, please know this:

There is nothing wrong with you. You are not being dramatic, and you don’t need to force yourself to “get over it”.

If there’s any gentle guidance here, it’s this: You don’t need to get it right. You only need to do what feels kind enough for today.

Grief doesn’t disappear. It changes shape, and sometimes, the bravest thing we do is meet it gently, exactly where it shows up.