Creating through grief and saying goodbye to November

Hey there,

This introduction was supposed to include an announcement about taking 6 weeks off. Then I realized that I don’t actually want to take the time away from your inbox. There’s something about winter that makes me want to cling to connections rather than isolate. Maybe it’s that California childhood and lack of seasons.

Years ago, this would be the time that I’d start planning an annual Gin & Gingerbread party. I’m not the most social person, but I love to plan a good party and long for a good distraction. I didn’t enjoy going home for the holidays and wanted to soak up as much time as possible with friends. The plane rides to the Bay Area felt less lonely when I reflected on the joy, laughter, and hopeful glances of the night.

I like to think my tastes have evolved over the years, but familiarity lingers. The temperature is dropping, and I am nostalgic for the rubber boot mat overflown with guests’ winter boots and sneakers (too many of us did not wear proper footwear). I miss the moment when I finally decided to sacrifice an old towel to protect the wooden floors from snow slush.

In many ways, writing to you all is how I play host. Thanks for coming around.

It’s the season to hold your people close, yeah?

I struggled with November as the first anniversary of my dad’s death approached. Friends and neighbors were kind to reach out over the past few days, but I didn’t have the energy to respond to messages or FaceTime calls while tending to my sick kiddo. I had the following Monday off work, and unexpectedly, the first task of the day was a pediatrics appointment.

So most of my free time has been spent flipping through craft books I picked up from the library.

Creating art over the past year has been crucial throughout this grief journey. At this time, most of it won’t be shared or included in zines. While I haven’t been able to complete a few creative projects as anticipated in 2025, there was no escaping trying to capture what I was feeling.

I didn’t write many journal entries this year, but I documented the transitions, tensions, quiet and overwhelming moments. 

One of the reasons I wanted to reach out is that I have a great group of creative writers working on their final assignments. It is inspiring to witness the energy that surges through the writing group when participants talk about creating through grief.

I facilitate the creative writing program at an independent living residence. We have about half a dozen participants whose ages range between 60 and 98 years old. Spending the past ten months with them reminds me how much we leave unsaid until someone gives us permission to let it out.

There are participants who have come into the creative writing program with no intention of starting a creative project. Yet they have shown up to every session because the space has given the opportunity to explore grief and process the chaotic happenings that feel out of our control. 

I get that, for sure. That’s why I keep writing. This newsletter is coming up on ten years, which is wild. Maintaining this kind of connection hasn’t been easy over the years and it’s been the biggest test of my fear of commitment. And I’m so glad it’s still going.

It means a lot to have your support over the past year. It was tough navigating deep grief among many other transitions, but creating art and sharing with you remained a highlight throughout the year. I’m looking forward to our adventures in 2026.

Stay warm and keep shining your light.

In Solidarity,

Sula Found