If someone you care about has lost a person, and you're trying to work out what to say, here is the short version: say their person's name, say one thing you remember, and don't try to make it better. This page is the long version. What helps, what doesn't, what to text when you can't be there, and what to do six weeks from now, when everyone else has gone home.
What do you say to someone who is grieving?
Less than you think. The sentences that help are short, specific, and about the person who's gone rather than about the person in front of you.
Say their name. Not "your loss," not "your mom," if you knew her name. "I keep thinking about Linda." After a loss, people stop saying the name because they think it will hurt. It's the opposite. The griever is terrified the name is going to disappear from the world, and every time you say it you prove it hasn't.
Say one thing you remember. A real one, small is fine. "I still think about the time your dad drove forty minutes to bring you the charger." "She always put too much cheese on everything and she was right." This does two things. It tells them their person was real to someone besides them. And it gives them a story they may not have had.
Say that you're there, with a date on it. Not "I'm here if you need anything." That's a sentence that puts the work on them. "I'm coming by Thursday with dinner. You don't have to come to the door." "I'm taking the kids Saturday morning." If they say no, say okay and try again in two weeks.
Say nothing, and stay. One of the best things anyone does for a grieving person is sit on the couch with them and not fill the silence. If they want to tell the same story for the fifth time, let them. The story is how it's getting real.
Ask about them, not about it. "What was he like at your age?" "What did she cook?" People rarely ask the griever about the person. They ask how the griever is doing, which has only one honest answer, and the griever is tired of giving it.
What should you not say to someone who is grieving?
Every sentence below is said with love, by good people, every day. Every one of them makes it worse. If you've said one, you're in the majority; just don't say it again.
"At least…" At least they're not suffering. At least you had so long with them. At least you have your other kids. Any sentence that begins with "at least" is for the comfort of the person saying it. There is no "at least" in the first year.
"They're in a better place." Even if the griever believes it, the better place was here. You're describing a consolation the griever hasn't reached and may never want.
"Everything happens for a reason." There is no reason a grieving person wants to hear. If there were one, it wouldn't be yours to give.
"You're so strong." It sounds like a compliment and lands like an instruction. It tells them not to fall apart in front of you. Say instead: "You don't have to hold it together with me."
"Are you feeling better?" / "Are you over it yet?" Grief isn't an illness and it isn't a phase. Some version of it stays. Asking whether it's done tells the griever you're ready for them to be finished, and they'll stop telling you the truth.
"I know how you feel." Even if you've lost someone, you don't. Say instead: "I lost my dad four years ago. I'm not going to pretend it's the same. I'm here."
"They wouldn't want you to be sad." The person who'd know isn't available to confirm, and sadness isn't a choice the griever is making.
"Let me know if you need anything." The griever can't. They don't know what they need, and if they did, asking would feel like begging. Pick a thing and offer it.
The old saying about time. Don't. Time does something, but it isn't that, and the griever is living inside the time you're describing as a cure.
Not mentioning it at all. The most common one, and the loudest. People avoid the subject to spare the griever. The griever experiences it as everyone pretending their person never existed. Bring it up. They were already thinking about it.
What do you text someone who lost a loved one?
Texting is good, for one reason: the griever can read it when they can, and doesn't have to perform a reaction. The rules are the same as talking, shorter.
A good text has three parts. Their person's name, or one specific memory. One line that asks nothing of them. "No need to reply." For example:
- "Thinking about your mom this morning. She had the best laugh in that office. No need to reply."
- "I know today is hard. I'm around all weekend if you want company, and totally fine if not."
- "Dropped soup on your porch. It's in the blue bag. Don't answer the door."
A bad text asks a question that needs an answer. "How are you holding up?" "Is there anything I can do?" "Did you get my last message?" Each one is a small task, and the griever already has four hundred.
Keep texting after the funeral. One line every week or two, for months. Not every day; that becomes a thing they have to manage. Not never; that's what everyone else does. Mark a few dates in your calendar: their person's birthday, the anniversary, Mother's Day or Father's Day if it applies, and the first Christmas. A text on the morning of each of those, with the name in it, is worth more than anything you said at the service.
If you don't know what to say, say that. "I don't have the right words. I'm not going anywhere." That's a complete text.
What do you write in a grief card?
Short is right. Write their person's name, one thing you remember, and that you'll be around. A card doesn't have to explain the loss or make it better. It only has to show you're thinking of them, and of the person they lost.
If you're stuck on the message, here are lines you can use as they are or change to fit. Write only the ones that are true for you:
- "I keep thinking about Linda. I'm so glad I knew her."
- "Your dad was one of the kindest people I've ever met. I'll miss him."
- "Her laugh is the first thing I remember about her. Thinking of you."
- "Your brother made every room louder and better. I miss him too."
- "I have a story about your grandmother I'd love to tell you, whenever you're ready."
- "I don't have the right words. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."
- "You don't have to be okay. I'll be thinking of you on the hard days."
- "Thinking of you and of Linda today, and in the months ahead."
- "I'm bringing dinner on Thursday. No need to write back."
- "I loved him too. I'm thinking of you."
Leave out the sentences from the what-not-to-say list; a card is no place for "at least" or "a better place." Then sign it the way you'd sign anything else to them.
How do you help someone who is grieving without being asked?
Show up on day forty, not day four.
In the first week, a grieving person is surrounded. Food on every surface, people in every room, forty texts a day. Then the funeral happens, the family leaves, work expects them back, and the house goes quiet. That's when they need you, and that's exactly when everyone has gone home. Put a note in your calendar for six weeks after the loss, and another for three months, and do something on each.
Specific things that help, in roughly the order people need them:
- Food that doesn't need a decision. Not "what do you want?" Something they can eat standing up at the fridge, in containers you don't want back.
- The errands with no emotional content. Groceries. Picking up the dry cleaning. Walking the dog. Driving the kids to practice. Mowing the lawn before they notice it needs mowing.
- Sitting with the paperwork. There is a mountain of it after a loss, and most of it requires saying the person's name to a stranger on the phone. Offer to make the calls, or to sit next to them while they do.
- Company for the first hard thing. The first trip back to the grocery store they always shopped at together. The first time clearing a closet. Don't do it for them. Do it next to them.
- The thing their person used to do. If Dad always fixed the car, offer to take the car in. If Mom did Sunday dinner, bring Sunday dinner.
And then listen. Not to fix, not to compare, not to steer toward the bright side. If they cry, don't rush to stop it. If they laugh, don't look surprised; a laugh in the middle of grief is a break, not a recovery. If they say something that sounds irrational, like being angry at the person for leaving, don't argue. You're not there to be right.
What do you say to someone on the anniversary of a loss?
Their name, and that you remembered.
The anniversary is the day the griever is most sure nobody else is thinking about. Proving them wrong is the whole job. In the morning, a text: "I know what today is. I'm thinking about you and about Michael." Later, if you're close, a call or a visit. Say what you remember. Don't ask how they're doing; the answer is "it's the anniversary."
Some grievers want company on the day and some want to be left alone with it, and the same person may want different things in different years. Offer, don't insist. "I'd like to bring dinner tonight, or leave you be, whichever is right. Tell me which." Then do what they say.
The same goes for their person's birthday, and for Mother's Day and Father's Day if they've lost a parent. These are the dates the rest of the world has forgotten belong to them. You're one of the few people who can put the date in a calendar and show up on it, year after year, and most people don't. Be one of the ones who does.
If, on one of these days or any other, the person you're supporting says something that makes you worry about their safety, take it seriously and help them reach a doctor or a grief counselor. That's not overstepping. That's what being next to them is for.
How long should you keep checking in?
Longer than feels natural. Grief doesn't end on a schedule, and the people who matter most to a griever a year out are the ones who are still asking about their person when everyone else has stopped.
You don't have to do it daily. Do it on the days that count, and sometimes on an ordinary Tuesday for no reason. "Saw a cardinal this morning and thought of your mom." That text costs nothing, and they'll remember it for years.
Say the name. Show up with a date on it. Listen without fixing. Usually less, not more.
If they say they miss the sound of the voice
Months in, the person you're supporting may tell you, quietly, that what they miss most is the voice. You don't have to fix that either. You can help them find it and keep it safe: the voicemail still on their phone, a voice memo, a video someone took at a birthday.
If they ever want more than the saved recording, there's a plain page about a recreation of their voice, made from recordings they already have. It isn't them, and the page says so. When they're ready, they can hear the voice first, free, and the free call shows them whether what they have is enough.
No card needed. In the US.
