Animal Crossing helped me process grief, and I'm not alone: "Visiting her island has brought me a lot of peace"

Six years ago, Animal Crossing: New Horizons became a global sanctuary amidst the Covid-19 pandemic, offering players a safe, predictable escape from uncertainty and a means to stay connected to loved ones. In the years since, it's become something even more profound: a place to memorialize, and even visit, loved ones who've passed on.

Last November, I lost someone very close to me. I had never suffered such a significant loss before, and so naturally I did what anyone experiencing capital-G Grief for the first time does: I shut down. I stopped exercising, stopped trying to quit bad habits, and cut off most communication with the outside world. I lived in my bed, limping downstairs to feed the cats twice a day. Primordial comforts; eating, sleeping, doomscrolling; were the only activities I had the strength for.

Weeks later, I started crawling out from hibernation. I warmed to my favorite hobbies once more – gradually, like coming in from the snow. Animal Crossing seemed like the gentlest way back into gaming, so I booted it up for the first time in months and was welcomed by my island of anthropomorphic friends. Some had sent me letters with words of affirmation, others wondered where I'd been for so long.

"Hey, I just wanted to say that I'm so happy I met you," reads a letter from my deer, sweet Chadder, sent during one of the lowest points of my journey with grief. "News flash, kiddo—the ocean of life has waves! Now, ridin' down the face of 'em is pretty sweet. But paddlin' to the top? Now that's the tricky part," wrote village elder Walt. I still don't fully know what it means, but it was very sweet.

For weeks, I played nothing but Animal Crossing except where it was required by my job, not as an escape from grief, but as an idyllic, pastel-colored embrace. I built a small memorial with a birdcage. She loved birds. I picked flowers and placed them around my home. Her favorite, a purple tulip, sits above the fireplace. Animal Crossing became a place where I could grieve in steady waters, removed from the emotional tidal waves I was navigating in the real world.

Dream island

I've spent the last few weeks talking privately to members of the Animal Crossing community who've also suffered recent losses, and I'm not alone in using the game as a tool to process grief. Some have even been able to visit lost loved ones in the game, whether by going to their islands or loading up the game on their old consoles. For one grieving parent I spoke with who asked to be referred to by her first name, Rachel, it's a way to stay connected to precious memories with her daughter, Lucy.

"She would spend hours setting up her island," Rachel told me. "It was a bit haphazard whereas mine was more structured. She just liked terraforming randomly. We'd visit each others' islands and she used to post on Reddit for swaps, turnip prices etc. A few times my turnip prices went high and she posted about it and managed the visitors who would come in to sell on my island [...] Her favourite character was Raymond."

Longing for some form of interaction, Rachel started up Animal Crossing on Lucy's Nintendo Switch and saw her island for the first time since her death. She found pictures and videos Lucy had taken while playing the game. "The videos especially were treasured as I was able to hold her Switch and watch her move around the island," she said. "But I haven't done so since that first time as it was too difficult."

Rachel told me she's since managed to tidy up Lucy's island by picking weeds and squashing cockroaches, but she's only changed one thing. "I built a memorial to her featuring yellow flowers and I went to sit with her on that," she said. "ACNH reminds me of a time when we spent a lot of time together. She hadn’t played in a couple of years, but it's one of my lasting memories of her – the simpleness and gentleness of a game that we shared."

I'm so happy I met you

Another Animal Crossing player, who asked to remain anonymous, grieved the death of her sister. Animal Crossing had been a big part of their relationship since their early childhood.

"I remember having to chase her down while she was in my town because she would steal my flowers or fruits, typical little sibling type activities," she told me, adding that "[Animal Crossing] New Leaf is where most of my memories lay.

"We would just go to each other's towns and hang out, drop off bells, items, etc – but this was happening almost everyday that summer. It's funny, I don't remember doing much of anything those days in-game, but I just remember it was with her," she said.

As with any sibling relationship, there was friction between the sisters, but Animal Crossing was always a place where they could settle their differences over the in-game stalk market.

"We used to fight like cats and dogs but then would ask the other to open their gate so we could come over and play, fish, catch bugs, sell turnips, chitchat, whatever we wanted to that day," she told me. "Animal Crossing really was the bridge in our relationship. It allowed us to just be little kids again."

The person I spoke with hadn't played Animal Crossing in years when her sister died, so when she visited her island, "had no idea what was in store" for her. "It was difficult to walk around because it felt like I had missed so much," she said. At the same time, the Animal Crossing player told me she was "amazed" by her late sister's island.

"It was whimsical, fantastical, and just very pink. She still had her flag as [Japanese plush toy character] Korilakkuma eating a strawberry – she hadn't changed it since we both played together." She told me visiting her sister's Animal Crossing island brought out "a mix of emotions.

"It was nice to see her standing there but it's not her. She's not her and it just fucking sucks."

Farming for memories

For me, grieving has been an excruciatingly slow journey in which I cling to the tiniest crumbs of comfort, even the most jagged, in hopes that one day it won't hurt quite so bad. For the Animal Crossing player grieving her sister, one of those morsels of relief came in the form of an adorable, rosy-cheeked frog.

"Lily had been her favorite character since Wild World and I am happy to report she was still on the island! It's the little things," she said. "In a way, visiting her island has brought me a lot of peace because it allowed me to pause and think of all the good times we had together."

Researching for this story, I found dozens of social media posts from grieving parents, children, grandchildren, friends, and even pet parents who play Animal Crossing as a means to process grief. For many in mourning, Animal Crossing is a warm hug, an invitation to work through painful feelings on their own time, and in rare cases, an opportunity to revisit someone's memory, in all of its unique expressiveness.

After swapping teary stories with grief-stricken members of the Animal Crossing community, I learned it was never about any one game. Animal Crossing is a vessel to express your individuality; a canvas to leave your singularly unique impression via custom flags, musical jingles, outfits, hairstyles, land formations, home decor, and gardens. Whether a bereaved person is able and willing to sit with an expression left by someone who's no longer here, or seeking to create a new dedication using the tools available in Animal Crossing, there's solace in being able to do so within such a nurturing environment.

Closing with a quote from my in-game mom sent at the dead of my personal winter: "As I battle through the bitter cold, I think of you and sew through the night."