When my husband died, my children and I each wrote a letter, saying all the things we wished we had said when he was alive (he died suddenly). The letters were placed in the coffin between his hands and were burned with him. I then wrote a letter every day for several months, saying all sorts of things, from the everyday things I'd done to complaining about the way the children were behaving. Gradually, I found I was writing less and less often. All those letters are in a locked box. I shall probably never read them again and who knows, one day I might even ceremoniously burn the box and its contents. But knowing they are there is very comforting. Even now, 7 years later. You might find comfort in doing a similar thing Louise. x