Nick Cave says the pain of his son's death has "evolved over time".

Nick's 15-year-old son Arthur died in 2015 after falling from the Ovingdean Gap cliffs in Brighton, England and Nick explained how he and his wife Susie have been coping with their grief in the intervening years.

In a new letter on his theredhandfiles.com website, Nick said: "The pain remains, but I have found that it evolves over time. Grief blossoms with age, becoming less a personal affront, less a cosmic betrayal, and more a poetic quality of being as we learn to surrender to it. As we are confronted with the intolerable injustice of death, what seems unbearable ultimately turns out not to be unbearable at all. Sorrow grows richer, deeper, and more textured. It feels more interesting, creative, and lovely.

To my great surprise, I discovered that I was part of a common human story. I began to recognise the immense value and potential of our humanness while simultaneously acknowledging, at my core, our terrifyingly perilous situation. I learned we all actually die. I realised that although each of us is special and unique, our pain and brokenness is not. Over time, Susie and I came to understand that the world is not indifferent or cruel, but precious and loving - indeed, lovely - tilting ever toward good."

Nick - who also lost his eldest son Jethro in 2022 - added that he and Susie agree that things "get better in time" and he shared how sorrow has become "a way of life" for them both.

He said: "Sorrow becomes a way of life, part laughter, part tears, with very little space between. It is a way of conducting oneself in the world, of loving it, of worshipping it.

"I read this letter to Susie, and she agreed that things get better in time. She reminded me that her dreams of Arthur from ten years ago were terrible, scorched-earth affairs, full of shame and weeping. She said Arthur still visits her every week. He is always the same age, around ten years old. Nothing much happens, he simply sits with her. Sometimes she laces his shoes. Sometimes she combs his hair. Sometimes he crawls into her lap and wraps his arms around her neck. She told me that she recently had a dream in which Arthur had a button for a nose, and when she pressed it a little blue light blinked on. There is no despair or remorse in these dreams. They are, instead, an uncomplicated joy.

"I'm not sure what else I've learned, except that here we still are, a decade later, living within the radiant heart of the trauma, the place where all thoughts and dreams converge and where all hope and sorrow reside, the bright and teary eye of the storm - this whirling boy who is God, like every other thing. We remember him today."