It's weird how grief just hits you randomly.

For context, my brother passed away in September. It was most likely a suicide, too.

We had a rough relationship because he was toxic, but there were points where he tried. I was fed up with it so I stopped trying to talk to him, but whenever he’d reach out I’d be cordial because I’m a nice person.

Before his passing, when things get really rough between us, I would actually say things like how I wouldn’t miss him when he’d go (he was depressed, and there were moments where he did try to kill himself) or how out of anger, I’d say things like “I hope you die,” but in the worst possible way I could because I have issues.

And then when he did actually pass away, it hurt. And I’ve been so conflicted with it because on one hand, I didn’t like him. He was a jerk, and sometimes abusive. But on the other hand, we used to be close as kids, and I hold onto that part whenever memories flood in. We were like the best of friends growing up before he hit middle school. Thinking of him in a way where I both despise yet miss him is confusing.

Because I rarely talked to him, I go on with my days as if nothing’s happened. And then I get hit with the grief, whether I’ll listen to a song or see a picture of him, or think about our childhood… and the thought strikes me… “I don’t have a brother anymore.” Then the tears come flooding down.

It’s weird how grief works.

Another odd note I’ve realized recently is that a lot of the stories I write tend to be about grief. A Nightmare’s Fate—her fiancé died in war. My Invisible Wound—the MC commits suicide and comes back as a ghost to see the aftermath. In the Dark—it’s a murder mystery, but the MC was grieving his deceased mother before the murder mystery part took over. And now my current work in progress—the Sorceress—which is about the MC avenging his deceased family.

At the time of writing these, I had never truly experienced grief. I had a brother I never met nor knew who died, but that was before my existence. That kind of grief is different, it’s like finding out you had this ancestor who died hundreds of years ago. It’s sad, but you were never a part of their life in any way… and so it doesn’t hit you the same way it would for someone else who knew them. But while I’ve had the knowledge of what grief is and how people react to it, writing it is different than actually living it. It’s weird as I look back with a new perspective on it now going through loss myself.

Have you ever experienced something like that, where you wrote about something (doesn’t have to be about grief) but never actually experienced it as you wrote it, and then you finally did experience it and saw a new perspective to that topic? Like it opened your eyes?


Not that I can recall, but I do honestly believe we can mourn for ideas as well as for real, solid people, as in you’re mourning for the possibility of what your brother could have been if he hadn’t become abusive. Just guessing on my part, but I’ve felt that way before myself – mourning for the person who could have been rather than the person who actually was.

I definitely think we’re subconsciously compelled to write about things we’re trying to process. Things we don’t even want to write about, in some cases, but there they are on the page.

So sorry about your grief…mourning truly is the worst, and I wouldn’t wish it on even those I hated, and I definitely like you. Don’t know what to do about grief, though. It has its own schedule and can’t be rushed through. Wouldn’t it be nice to just be able to sleep through it? Then you wake up one day and it’s all over; you don’t miss the person anymore and you can get on with your life. They need to come up with a pill for that. ( -.-)\(^◡^ )

So sorry to hear what’s happened. Sending fox hugs your way.

Yes, when my cat of 17 years passed away, I never knew what it was like to lose something precious until then. I never knew what seeing death would be like until then. I had seen my great grandmother on her deathbed, but I was little and I didn’t know her and it never sunk in.

So, now, while rewriting my story about a blue feline who loses her sister at the hands of her enemy, I feel like I can better express what she’s feeling or trying not to feel afterwards. It definitely opened my eyes.

People say “write what you know” and I hate to admit that it does help if you have actually experienced whatever the thing is, although I still do believe for many emotional things you can still write from imagination if you’ve read up on it a lot.

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