I Was Reporting in a War Zone When My Grandmother Died. How Learning About Others’ Grief Helps My Own (Exclusive)

In December 2024, when the regime of Bashar al-Assad fell, a multitude of people flooded into Syria, driven by a desperate hope to uncover the fates of their missing loved ones. Among them was journalist Sally Hayden, who found herself grappling with profound personal loss even as she pursued a harrowing story. As she climbed toward Sednaya Prison, a notorious site of torture, memories of her grandmother flooded her mind just as the news of her passing did. At that moment, the weight of her own sorrow juxtaposed starkly with the collective grief surrounding her.

The stark reality of Hayden’s profession means that significant moments with family are often sidelined in favour of reporting from the front lines. This phenomenon, termed ‘grief on grief, sorrow on sorrow, love on love,’ presents an emotional conundrum for international reporters. While they are expected to provide emotional support to strangers, they often neglect their obligations to family and friends during their times of loss. For Hayden, this painful experience only intensified as she reflected on her grandmother’s life and the poignant moments they had shared together, moments now obscured by the distance of her current situation.

On an assignment that took her far from home, she encountered other bereaved individuals around the globe, from Somalia to Ukraine, and it was through these stories that she found solace in her own grief. She recalls one particularly illuminating journey to Japan in 2022, where she learned about the “drifting post” established by Yuji Akagawa. This poignant letterbox serves as a cathartic outlet for those mourning their loved ones, allowing them to send written messages to those who have died—a testament to enduring connections despite loss.

In the coastal town of Rikuzentakata, Hayden witnessed first-hand the letters left by the bereaved. Some messages were regular, others one-off; all carried the weight of longing. They described daily life, inquired about the dead, and expressed poignant memories, demonstrating the enduring ways people seek to honour their loved ones. Many letters conveyed the writers’ rituals for remembrance, from speaking into the wind to ceremonial offerings at gravesites, underlining the profound human need to maintain connection despite the void left by death.

This notion of engaging with grief is not confined to Japan. In the United States, this theme resonates through the adaptation of similar concepts, like the ‘wind phone’ created by Itaru Sasaki. Situated in a phone box, this installation allows mourners to speak to those they have lost, providing a unique means of processing their feelings. Following the death of her daughter, Amy Dawson initiated an online directory to map these wind phones across the US and beyond, illustrating the collective human response to death and loss.

The evolution of Dawson’s project has revealed an increasing need for such spaces where individuals can mourn openly. Not merely reserved for bereaved individuals, these installations offer a sanctuary for anyone grappling with various forms of loss—be it a job, a relationship, or even a pet. Dawson emphasises the importance of finding meaning in grief, asserting that comfort often lies in actions taken after the death rather than the death itself. This proactive approach encourages individuals to honour their feelings without succumbing to stagnation.

In a reassuring cycle of remembrance, Akagawa takes the letters from the drifting post to a nearby Buddhist temple annually, where they are prayed over in a ceremony designed to send their words to the afterlife. The tradition of kuyou serves as a spiritual conduit, transforming the echoes of human grief into acts of compassion and remembrance. For Akagawa himself, the thought of also receiving letters after death offers a sense of comfort; he has asked his wife to pen a message to him, ensuring that he too will be remembered in this intimate way.

This intertwining of grief and love, reminiscent of American poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s evocative words on heartbreak, highlights a universal truth. The miracle of existence, combined with our shared vulnerability, necessitates that we treat each other with great tenderness. As modern society continues to navigate the complexities of grief, the efforts of individuals like Akagawa and Dawson underline a collective yearning to honour and process loss.

In the age of disconnection and hurried lives, these creative endeavours serve as lifelines, helping the bereaved cope with their sorrow. Ultimately, they affirm a fundamental reality: while death may sever physical ties, it cannot diminish the powerful connections formed through love and shared memory.