Grief Is Not Linear — And Why a Book Can Be Healing

When someone dies, especially in a sudden or violent way, there is a common assumption that grief follows a path: shock, sadness, anger, acceptance, and finally, “moving on.” But anyone who has lived with grief knows the truth — it is not a straight line. It is not a checklist. It is not something you finish. Grief is messy, circular, unpredictable. One moment you may feel at peace, and the next you are undone by a song, a memory, or even the sound of laughter that reminds you of what you’ve lost.

This is why the idea that time “heals all wounds” feels so hollow. Time doesn’t heal on its own. It simply creates space. What fills that space — love, memory, rituals, storytelling — is what shapes the healing.

For families, friends, and colleagues of Constable Matthew Hunt, grief has been anything but linear. One day might bring pride in his service and the way the nation honoured him. Another day might bring raw pain at the senselessness of his death. Even years later, a text message frozen on a phone screen or the smell of dinner cooking at the wrong table can pull you back to the very first moment of loss.

Why a Book Can Be Healing

In the midst of grief’s unpredictability, books can offer something steady. Writing a book, or reading one, gives shape to what often feels like chaos. It doesn’t erase the pain, but it helps us understand it, honour it, and sometimes even share it.

For a writer, the act of putting grief into words is both a discipline and a release. It forces you to slow down, to examine what you feel, to translate raw emotion into sentences that can be shared. That process can be painful — reliving memories, sitting with sorrow — but it can also be profoundly healing. Words make the invisible visible. They allow you to take what is trapped inside and set it down where you can see it.

For readers, a book becomes a bridge. It reminds them they are not alone in their grief. It validates emotions that may otherwise feel isolating or “wrong.” When someone reads about another’s loss and recognises their own feelings in those pages, it gives permission to grieve in their own way, at their own pace.

Books also preserve memory. They ensure that a person’s life is not reduced to the manner of their death. In Matt’s case, a book allows him to be remembered not just as a fallen officer, but as a son, a friend, a person with humour, quirks, and dreams. That kind of storytelling is not just healing for those closest to him, but for all of us. It reshapes grief into legacy.

Behind the Blue- Matthew Hunts Lasting Legacy    COMING 2026