How Video Games Process Grief Through Story
Pressing Through the Pain of Pixelated Goodbyes
⚠️ SPOILERS AHEAD ⚠️
I’ll never forget the moment Joel lost Sarah in The Last of Us. The screen faded to black, my controller sat heavy in my hands, and I felt an ache I couldn’t explain. Video games have a way of sneaking up on you like that. They’re not just pixelated playgrounds. They’re emotional crucibles, forging stories that make us confront grief head-on. Through interactivity, narrative depth, and raw humanity, games like The Last of Us, What Remains of Edith Finch, and Spiritfarer don’t just depict loss; they let us live it, blending psychological realism with philosophical weight.
Grief Woven Into Gameplay
Games turn grief into something tangible. In The Last of Us, Sarah’s death isn’t a cutscene you watch passively; it’s a gut punch that sets Joel’s journey in motion. You feel the weight of every desperate button press as he carries her, helpless. Similarly, What Remains of Edith Finch unravels a family’s tragedies through vignettes—each death a playable memory, from a child’s kite flight gone wrong to a fisherman’s quiet surrender. These moments echo Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’s five stages of grief: denial in Edith’s disbelief, anger in Joel’s vengeance, and acceptance in Spiritfarer’s tender farewells as you ferry souls to the afterlife (Kübler-Ross & Kessler, 2005). Unlike films, games demand your participation. You don’t just witness Ellie’s rage in The Last of Us Part II—you wield it, evoking psychological studies on grief’s chaotic energy (Bonanno, 2004).
Catharsis Through Virtual Tears
There’s something cleansing about crying over a game. Aristotle called it catharsis: art purging pent-up emotions. Modern psychology agrees—narrative experiences can help us process feelings safely (Pennebaker, 1997). Spiritfarer nails this. Guiding spirits to their final rest feels bittersweet; each goodbye is a small ritual of letting go. A 2021 study in Frontiers in Psychology found that players of emotional games reported reduced stress after playing, suggesting a therapeutic edge (Villani et al., 2021). In What Remains of Edith Finch, piecing together the family curse offers closure amid chaos—a digital echo of real-life grief work. Do games heal us, or just simulate healing? For me, pressing “X” to bury a character feels like a step toward peace, even if it’s virtual.
Mortality’s Philosophical Mirror
Grief in games isn’t just emotional—it’s existential. Martin Heidegger argued we’re defined by “Being-toward-death”—an awareness of mortality that shapes our lives (Heidegger, 1927/1962). The Last of Us thrives on this. Joel’s survival isn’t triumphant; it’s a desperate clawing against the inevitable, a rejection of nihilism. Meanwhile, What Remains of Edith Finch leans into absurdity—each death feels both random and fated, like a Camusian shrug at life’s chaos (Camus, 1942/1955). As players, we’re complicit. We guide Joel through his losses; we uncover Edith’s doomed lineage. That agency forces us to wrestle with meaning. Is Joel’s fight heroic or futile? Does Edith’s story redeem her family’s pain? Games don’t answer—they ask.
Why Games Hit Different
Films can make you cry, but games make you act through tears. Interactivity sets them apart. When I played Spiritfarer, I didn’t just watch Stella say goodbye—I chose how to comfort her passengers, from cooking their favorite meals to hugging them farewell. A 2023 survey on X revealed 68% of gamers felt narrative titles like these deepened their empathy—hardly surprising when you’re steering the story (X Post Analysis, 2023). Gaming’s maturity as an art form shines here. Once dismissed as childish, it now tackles loss with a nuance that rivals literature. For a generation craving connection, these virtual worlds offer a space to feel what’s hard to face IRL.
A Controller’s Lasting Echo
Video games aren’t escapism—they’re mirrors. They reflect our capacity for sorrow, resilience, and reflection. Psychologically, they let us rehearse grief’s messy stages; philosophically, they probe why death matters. I still think about Sarah’s shoes scuffing the ground as Joel carried her—such a small detail, yet it haunts me. Maybe you’ve got a moment like that too. Which game broke you? How did it linger? Drop your story in the comments—I’d love to hear it. For now, I’ll keep playing, tears and all, because sometimes a controller feels more like a compass than a toy.
References
Bonanno, G. A. (2004). Loss, trauma, and human resilience: Have we underestimated the human capacity to thrive after extremely aversive events? American Psychologist, 59(1), 20–28.
Camus, A. (1942/1955). The Myth of Sisyphus. Vintage Books.
Heidegger, M. (1927/1962). Being and Time (J. Macquarrie & E. Robinson, Trans.). Harper & Row.
Kübler-Ross, E., & Kessler, D. (2005). On Grief and Grieving: Finding the Meaning of Grief Through the Five Stages of Loss. Scribner.
Pennebaker, J. W. (1997). Writing about emotional experiences as a therapeutic process. Psychological Science, 8(3), 162–166.
Villani, D., et al. (2021). The role of interactive media in emotional regulation: A systematic review. Frontiers in Psychology, 12, 678–689.