When someone you care about is grieving, finding the right words can feel impossible.

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I've experienced that feeling from both sides.

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For almost a decade, I've worked as a hypnotherapist supporting people through grief, listening to stories that are rarely spoken aloud. I've also stood on the other side—as the person receiving the cards, the messages and the well-meaning words after losing the people I loved most.

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There were moments when I could see the panic in someone's eyes as they searched for the "right" words. Sometimes they said nothing at all. Sometimes they stayed away because they didn't know how to begin. And sometimes they said something that hurt—not because they were unkind, but because grief doesn't come with a guidebook, and most of us are never taught how to talk about it.

 

Through both my work and my own experiences, I've learned something simple but profound: grief doesn't need fixing. It doesn't need silver linings or perfect answers. What grieving people need most is to feel remembered, understood and less alone. Sometimes, a few honest words can do exactly that.

Looking back, I rarely remember the perfect words.

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What I remembered was the kindness behind them. The people who simply showed up. The handwritten cards that stayed long after the flowers had faded. The messages that quietly reminded me I wasn't facing my grief alone.
 

Why I created Words Worth Keeping
 

Like many people, I've experienced the loss of grandparents and loved ones. Over the years, grief has touched almost every part of my life.

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My eldest daughter, Liana, died aged just 22 after a long journey through multi-organ failure and transplantation. A few years later, my dad, Richard, died suddenly and unexpectedly. Most recently, I lost my husband, Jason, after a two-year battle with stage IV lymphoma. Each loss was different. Each changed me in different ways.

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Each loss taught me something different. But they all taught me the same thing about words. That words don't have to be perfect. They simply have to let someone know they're not alone. Some stay with us forever. Others disappear the moment they're spoken. And sometimes, the simplest words are the ones we remember most.

"I'm here."

"I'm thinking of you."

"You don't have to be brave today."

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Those words became an anchor for me. They reminded me that although grief can be deeply lonely, no one should have to carry it without feeling seen. Words Worth Keeping grew from that understanding. Not to fix grief. Not to explain it away. Simply to offer words when finding your own feels impossible.

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Every card has been thoughtfully written with one hope: that when someone struggles to find the right words, they find them here—and that the person receiving them feels seen, understood and just a little less alone.

With love,

Di Goddard