The Stories we Tell: How Storytelling Helps Process Grief and Bring Understanding

There’s a reason humans have told stories for as long as we’ve had language. Stories are how we make sense of the world—of joy, of loss, of the moments that shape us. And when grief enters the picture, storytelling becomes more than just words. It becomes survival.

I didn’t set out to write Being Ben right away. In fact, for years, I couldn’t. Every time I tried, the weight of it all was too much. The loss, the unanswered questions, the memories that felt too sharp to hold for long. But as time passed, I realized that the story of my son, Ben, wasn’t something to be locked away. It was something that could help me heal—and maybe help others, too.

Grief Is a Story That Demands to Be Told

When we lose someone we love, our minds start spinning narratives, whether we intend them to or not. We replay the “what ifs,” the last conversations, the things we wish we’d said. We search for meaning in places where there often is none. And sometimes, if we’re lucky, we find the threads of a story that give us peace—not because they explain everything, but because they allow us to say: This mattered. They mattered.

For me, writing about Ben is not just about remembering who he was—it’s about understanding him in ways I couldn’t while he was alive. It’s about piecing together the brilliance, the struggles, the love, and the chaos into something coherent. And maybe, through that process, finding a way to forgive myself for the things I’ll always wonder if I could have done differently.

Sharing Our Stories Creates Connection

Grief can be an isolating thing. People don’t always know what to say, and we don’t always know how to express what we feel. But when we tell our stories—when we put grief into words—we give others permission to do the same.

Since starting Being Ben, I’ve heard from so many people who have carried their own hidden grief, their own questions and regrets. Some are parents who have lost children, others are people who have simply loved and lost in different ways. And each time someone shares their story with me, I’m reminded that grief is never just ours alone. We are all carrying pieces of it.

Understanding Grows from Honesty

Ben was not an easy child. He was brilliant, funny, and deeply wounded. His trauma shaped him in ways I sometimes struggled to navigate. He could be loving and insightful one moment, and then rage-filled the next. There is no neat, polished version of this story where everything resolves perfectly. And that’s exactly why I have to tell it.

There’s a temptation when writing about those we’ve lost to make them saints, to sand down the rough edges and present only the best parts. But true understanding comes from honesty. By telling Ben’s story as it was—full of love and hardship, joy and heartbreak—I hope to paint a picture not just of him, but of the reality of parenting, of loss, of what it means to love someone even when it’s complicated.

Why Storytelling Matters

I don’t tell Ben’s story just for myself. I tell it for other parents who have felt like they were failing. For anyone who has struggled with the weight of loss. For those who need to know that it’s okay to laugh in the middle of grief, to hold both sorrow and love at the same time.

Because at the end of the day, storytelling is how we keep people alive. As long as their stories are told, they are never truly gone.

And so, I will keep telling Ben’s story. Because he mattered. Because his life, with all its complexities, deserves to be remembered. Because grief demands to be spoken.

And maybe, in the telling, we will all find a little more understanding.