Comforting Someone in Grief (Without Awkwardness)

Grief is awkward. Not for the person grieving, necessarily, though their pain might be a jagged mess of confusion, sadness, and overwhelm. No, grief is especially awkward for the people around the griever.

You want to say the right thing. But what if you say the wrong thing? You want to offer support. But what if you accidentally sound like a Hallmark card dipped in a hot cringe?

Breathe. It’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to show up, with heart, humility, and a little helpful know-how.

Here’s how to actually be there for someone who’s grieving, without accidentally stepping into the emotional equivalent of a bear trap.

Don’t run away.

You might feel helpless. You might think, “I don’t want to bother them.” Or “They probably want space.” Or “I don’t know what to say so I’ll just say nothing.”

But silence? Ghosting? Pretending nothing happened?

That hurts more than you know.

Showing up, even awkwardly, is a million times better than disappearing. A simple “I’m here” can be a lifeline.

You don’t have to write a Shakespearean condolence letter. You can just say:

“I heard what happened. I’m so sorry. I’m here for you.”

Boom. That’s it. That’s the bar. You cleared it.

Avoid the Griefy Greatest Hits

When someone’s in pain, we want to make it better. So we reach for clichés and comfort-lite phrases like:

• “They’re in a better place now.”

• “At least they lived a long life.”

• “Everything happens for a reason.”

• “God needed another angel.”

Unless you are God (and if you are, hi, thanks for reading), maybe don’t speak on divine intent.

Platitudes, while well-meaning, can feel dismissive. They can accidentally minimize the grief, even if that’s not your intent.

So what do you say instead?

Try something honest and heartfelt:

“I don’t have the right words, but I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

“This sucks. I’m here.”

“If you want to talk about them, I’d love to listen.”

That’s the stuff that helps. That’s real.

Show up with soup (or snacks, or spreadsheets)

Grief drains people. It makes remembering to eat, shower, or reply to texts feel like climbing Mount Everest in Crocs.

Practical help can be a lifeline.

Don’t say, “Let me know if you need anything.” People rarely let you know. Instead, offer something specific.

Try:

• “Can I drop off dinner on Tuesday?”

• “I’m free to walk your dog this week, want me to come by?”

• “Want me to help organize meal deliveries or a rideshare to the memorial?”
  

Don’t overpromise. Just pick one small, doable thing and follow through.

Also: donuts heal. Not scientifically, but spiritually.

Listen more than you speak

Grievers don’t need advice. They don’t need a silver lining. They need space.

Space to be messy. Space to be quiet. Space to cry, rage, tell weird stories about their person, or just sit there with someone who isn’t trying to “fix” the sadness.

You can be that space.

Ask open-ended questions like:

• “Want to talk about them?”

• “What’s the hardest part right now?”

• “Can I just sit with you?”
  

Then zip it. Listen. Nod. Cry with them, if the tears come. That connection? That presence? That’s comfort.

Grief is not a one-week thing

Grief doesn’t come with an expiration date. It’s not like milk. It doesn’t go bad after a week, or a month, or even a year.

Most people check in right after the funeral. But then?

The texts stop. The calls fade. The casseroles turn cold. And the griever is left feeling like everyone else moved on while they’re still stuck in a fog.

Be the person who remembers later.

Set a reminder for a month from now. Check in.

Text them on the person’s birthday. Or the anniversary. Or just... randomly.

“Hey, I was thinking of you and wanted to check in. How are you holding up?”

It matters. A lot.

It’s okay if you mess up, repair is part of support

You might say the wrong thing. You might bumble. That’s okay.

Grievers aren’t grading you on emotional calculus. They’re just hoping someone will stick around. If you mess up, own it with love.

Try:

“Hey, I’m realizing what I said probably wasn’t helpful. I’m sorry. I’m learning, and I really care about you.”

That kind of humility? It’s rare and beautiful. It helps heal.

Grieve with them, not just for them

Sometimes the best way to support someone is to remember with them.

Share your memories. Tell a story about their person. Laugh. Cry. Keep their loved one alive in conversation.

Say their name. It doesn’t “remind” them, they’re already thinking about them. But hearing that someone else remembers too?

It’s gold.

Be human. Be kind. Be present.

You don’t have to be a grief expert. You don’t need a degree in comfort science. You just need to show up, imperfectly, genuinely, and consistently.

And if you’re reading this because someone you care about is grieving?

Thank you. For showing up. For caring. For trying to get it right.

That means more than you know.

Want to remember what not to say when someone’s grieving? Screenshot this quick guide:

Avoid saying:

• “At least…” (just don’t)

• “They’re in a better place.”

• “God has a plan.”

• “You’ll feel better soon.”

• Anything that starts with “Well, when my grandma died…”
  

Instead, try:

• “I’m so sorry. I’m here for you.”

• “This sucks. I care about you.”

• “I don’t have words, but I’m with you.”

• “Can I bring you food / walk your dog / just sit with you?”
  

Grief is hard. But love makes it bearable. So lead with love, and snacks. Always snacks.