Creative writing

For many people. writing or talking about their experience can be very valuable. We welcome people sharing with their experience or thoughts through writing. We have run creative writing workshops at some of our family days, where the group work on a piece of writing together, each contributing to it. The finished results are often very poignant, powerful and a real work of collaboration.

We must trust in four letters,

Such a small word!

Brings us to where we stand today,

In HOPE and solidarity.

Without this word the future is bleak.

Unable to move forward.

Languishing, in limbo

We hold onto this word like a tenuous rope.

Gossip and whispers

Cloud our HOPE.

In the empty space between

Much pain and sorrow weep

We carry it forward,

A ball and a chain for tomorrow.

We exist around four letters

HOPE is a suggestion one day we may know.

Free to live life again

Deal with the sorrow.

We yearn for one thing

Knowing is all.

And therefore,

We live in HOPE.

Stillness and tranquillity
In the mind and around me.
Sparkle in the icy ground
And blue sky above me.

Cold blue waves
Against a white curve.
Solid in my hand.
See the crystals glisten
In the passing light.

Harsh and strong.
Edges to hurt.
Colours to love.
Gentle waves on granite.
Patterns to remember,
Like memories.

So many memories of you –

eyes shining with excitement

As you rolled down grassy slopes

Arms and legs flailing in the air

Or bicycle wheels spinning as you careered

into a patch of nettles

Those keepsakes that you cherished

Your blankie, a scruffy knitted bear

So many reminders

that you’re no longer here.

I wake and cannot catch my breath,

staring into empty space.

Boxes are stacked with your belongings

unwritten letters, birthday cards.

The music we sang together

plays on the stereo in the car.

A daily dull ache lingers

With these reminders

That you were once here

I imagine you returning

Giving me a warm embrace

Smiling shyly on the doorstep.

We would talk for hours,

share stories, filling gaps of lost years.

You would teach me how to paint

and I would teach you how to drive a car

And , with eyes shining with excitement,

we’d make new memories

One minute you were smiling

And standing at the door

You waved good bye and then you turned

Walking into night

Left me with one foot in the present

And one foot in the past

Your life, it was a gift to me

Your smile, still warms my soul

You haven’t gone away too far

My heart is now your home

“Just so you know, we found a bone

As yet, identity’s unknown

There’s confirmation to be done

But it could be your missing son.

We cannot tell you very much

It’s likely press will be in touch

It’s quite important you’re aware

You could be in the public glare.

We were lucky to find this

These things are so easy to miss.

And it seems strange that this was found

Beside a tree near the playground

By a lady and her son

As they went for their morning run

They were really quite upset

We haven’t checked in with them yet.

This could mean a big breakthrough

And could be closure now, for you.

We’re sure you must feel satisfied

At least you’ll know that he has died.

We’ll let you know if it is him

Like an Autumn leaf snatched from a branch on a windy day, you were gone

And our family tree was inexplicately changed in a blink of an eye

Left behind are keepsakes carefully cherished, residing in the only empty bedroom

Photos of days gone by adorn the walls and depict smiling faces and jovial gatherings

That last goodbye hug and wave farewell repeatedly recollected less it fade with time

Stories told on anniversaries and family gatherings to ensure those not there are included

Favourite places visited and silent moments of reflection shared to harbour the memories

Time ticks on with its relentless rhythm and apparent indifference to the hole in our lives

Anniversaries and family gatherings come and go, each negotiated without you

The reluctance to accept the new form of normal that we thought only ever happened to others

A momentary glimmer of hope from a fleeting look at a familiar face within a complete stranger

The playing of your favourite song or the showing of a much loved film brings a smile of remembrance

Daily chores interrupted by the unearthing of the picture you painted when back at school

Gathering and combining old photos into a chronological collage to hang on the living room wall

Sometimes I let my mind wander and consider what it would be like if you came back

There would be initial awkward moments followed by a tidal wave of emotional embraces

Many hours of questions asked and answers given, stories shared and pivotal events relived

Exciting introductions to new family members and remembering those no longer around

We would pick up on our old pastimes, playing new board games acquired, and painting sessions

The past would very much be the past and only the amazing future would really matter

And what an incredible future it would be, bright, happy and above all complete

I am driving Nina part way to Hastings to visit her dad, and we decide we will stop off for a walk, despite the gruesome weather. The chosen destination is Firle Beacon, a place with which we are vaguely familiar, from when Nina did the South Downs Way in 2020. It is the usual landscape, green rolling hills, a metallic structure at the peak for lord knows what, three hundred and sixty degree views, and miles and miles of country paths. Normally, you would be able to see the sea just east of Brighton, and look across to the other rolling hills of Ditchling beacon, as well as a smattering of villages and farms in all directions.

But today it is misty, and blustery, and I do not think I will see much. I am still in my post-operative recovery, ten weeks after my second hip operation, and I feel fragile on country paths. It is the mud, boot-sole-thick and squelchy, glassy and treacherous. I cannot afford to slip, so I have a stick with me, to steady my stride, and help me if I feel my feet about to slide from beneath me.

Nina gets out of the car first, as is her way, and is already stomping off with the dog in the opposite direction to the way I intend to walk. I am slow to get out of the car, used to shortening the length of walk I undertake to thirty minutes or thereabouts, and it has become a routine for me to loiter in the car for a few minutes, sometimes even longer, driven by my annoying but habitual need to check my phone, or time-waste by playing a game. Today, I am simply gathering belongings – hats, gloves, coat, the stick, but I have become slow and elderly in the way I move, and Nina is already at the first gate on the other side of the car park by the time I emerge. She is going against the wind, and later tells me she could feel it pushing her on.

Expressive Writing- how to get started

The following are all suggestions for ways in which you can use writing to help. Some may appeal to you more than others.

Many families write or record their thoughts and share them with us. We are always looking for more people to help us fill our Lived Experiences categories, a bank of testimonials, memories and thoughts from people affected by missing. Have a look at others words and thoughts and maybe you will consider sharing something with others

Creative writing

Poems

Hope

Moment in Time

You're no longer here

The Message

Time ticks on

A place of peace and tranquillity

Expressive Writing- how to get started

Sharing your experience

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