There’s so much I want to cry, pour out, and write…but
These were my thoughts while I was going through a flood of emotions while Ryan was fighting for his life in the ICU. The doctors weren’t giving any hope by this point.
I wanted an outlet so badly. And so I tweeted this one-liner after weeks of inactivity on the platform.
Just writing this down and getting it out of my system, when I had no immediate access to pen and paper, felt cathartic at that moment.
A release.
Few days later, I quoted the tweet again this time adding,
This is not the time.
I knew I didn’t have the luxury of time to write as much as I wanted to. I didn’t want to, either, because I knew my time with Ryan would be short-lived. I tried to spend every possible moment with him, but there were also so many practical matters I had to deal with alongside those final days.
Where was the time to sit down in solitude and write my heart away?
I had to hold my calm and strength, even more, for our daughter, his parents and my in-laws, and my own family, especially my parents.
It wasn’t easy…but there were small mercies.
Reading Held Up a Mirror to My Emotions
Sure, I couldn’t pour my cries on paper as much as I wanted to—so desperately. But reading came to my immediate rescue.
I was strong, natural pull toward Christian books at that time. Thankfully, it kept my sanity, calm, and faith amidst great grief.
However, after Ryan’s funeral, I felt an insatiable urge to read more than ever.
For the first time ever, I had an intense desire to read and explore a genre I would never have chosen otherwise. Usually, I sought books that were humorous, intelligent, thrilling, and adventurous.
Now, I was actively seeking books on grief and loss.
I became curious about darker, heavier topics like death (surprise!).
“A Grief Observed” by C.S. Lewis was like living water to a parched soul. It was exactly what my soul needed in my darkest time. I felt intimately seen, heard, and understood as never before. Only someone who’s walked in your shoes can truly understand your grief and pain. The death of a spouse is a unique grief and I was so glad I picked up this book when I needed it most.
Likewise, I made a whole reading list solely to help me cope with the death of my beloved spouse. I was reading diversely. Poetry, fiction, and non-fiction mostly centered around love, loss, and life.
Likewise, I compiled an entire reading list focused entirely on helping me survive the death of my beloved spouse. I read diversely across poetry, fiction, and non-fiction—all centered around themes of love, death, and grace.
There are a lot of bizarre coincidences too. It’s impossible to discuss them all but I’ll share two specific incidents.
One example is how I bought “Streams in the Desert”, a daily Christian devotional, in October 2023 but never actually got around to reading it. I already owned several other devotional books, so I soon forgot about this one too.
When I later saw “Streams in the Desert”, as a recommended book on grief, it struck me that I already owned it. It was written by L. B. Cowman after her husband, Charles Cowman died. Back in 2023, I had no idea about the backstory and simply thought it was another ordinary Christian devotional. Today, “Streams in the Desert” by L. B. Cowman brings me far more than joy, peace, comfort, and strength. It has become something my daughter and I read together and discuss at the end of each day.
The second example is how an author friend, Sonal Singh, gave me a signed copy of her poetry book “Between the Shadow and the Soul” at a book discussion event for Mahua Sen’s Dead Fish, where I was the host and interviewer.
A week later, I travelled to Boston to be with Ryan and took the book with me. However, I was so engrossed in our time together that the book took a backseat. I carried it back with me to Hyderabad in January this year, and then again on my flight to Boston when I heard Ryan had suffered a heart attack.
It was only then that I noticed the subtitle for the first time: Between the Shadow and the Soul – Poems on Love, Life and Loss. I didn’t have the heart or the courage to read it on the flight as I had initially planned. I left it untouched until March, a month after I returned to Hyderabad. This time, the poems spoke to me.
Incidents like this make me wonder if anything in our lives is accidental at all.
While some incidents unfold in the strangest ways, I took control of my coping journey by actively seeking books that spoke to me in my time of grief. I could relate to these books and found comfort in them—even in the uncomfortable parts.
Books came to me like the friends I needed most during this phase of my life.
Writing Brought Me Clarity
I started maintaining a journal just a few days before Ryan died.
I wrote daily since so many emotions and thoughts were impossible to process in my head. I was also receiving many signs that made no logical sense but felt perfectly aligned with my intuition.
I had to record them in my journal lest I forget them.
Initially, I quickly jotted only bullet points as I planned to revisit and expand on them after a few months.
Writing in my journal was also one of my many ways of communicating with Ryan. Some days, it felt like writing an open letter to him in my private journal, and it felt incredibly good once I had finished.
I was also penning poems, however messy they were. Writing became my main outlet for releasing my thoughts, feelings, and emotions—my mental detoxification.
Writing forces you to clear the clutter in your head and think clearly. I cannot tell you enough how much of a boon that has been in times of death, loss, and grief.
And Science Seems to Agree
I naturally gravitated toward reading and writing during my grief. Honestly, I don’t know how I would have survived if it weren’t for them.
An editor I had worked with closely in the past—and who has since become a dear friend—sent me an Instagram post earlier this week. It was about Dr. James Pennebaker, an American social psychologist who has spent over three decades researching why some people recover from trauma while others do not.
His study findings were pointedly simple and consistent. It wasn’t therapy or medication or even time (often touted as the greatest healer).
It was writing.
This was exactly what I had already been practising just a few days before Ryan died—a way to process the suddenness of this life-altering event and my grief.
A lot of what I’ve written is extremely private, and yet I’ve chosen to also write publicly about my grief for a few reasons. For now, I’ll share one:
Writing openly about my grief has become my way of giving back.
I’m deeply grateful to all the authors who bled and poured their souls onto the page amid their greatest tragedies. By doing so, they paved and lit the path forward, for all of us facing the same loss.
Reading their stories gave me hope, clarity, strength, and even flashes of joy. Had they not been so open and honest about their loss and healing journey, I wonder how much longer it would have taken so many of us to learn how to keep moving forward— a little day by day.
Having said that, most of my writing still happens privately in my journal rather than publicly on my blog or social media. My journal has become a private sanctuary—a holy place where I connect spiritually with my Creator, and my beloved Ryan. It feels like a tender, sacred, intimate conversation with them both.
Returning to the Word
I’m sure there’s a similar scientific explanation for the healing power of reading in relation to trauma and grief. It’s just that no one has shared it with me yet, and I haven’t gone looking for it either.
From my own limited experience so far, I know that reading has played just as pivotal a role as writing in helping me through the darkest times.
Together, reading and writing have held me together like loving parents.
I’ve always known reading and writing were magical. Today, I realise—
Reading and writing are miraculous.
John 1:1
In the beginning was the Word,
and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God.
This post is a part of Blogchatter A2Z Challenge 2026.
