When you don’t know what to say
Grief comes in many forms: the death of a spouse, a sibling, a parent, a partner, a dear friend, extended family, or even a child. No matter the relationship, the weight of the loss is life-changing, and it can be hard to know what to do or say.
I’m not sharing this for sympathy. I’m sharing it because I know what grief feels like up close. I’ve lived it, and I know how much the words of others can either help or hurt.
Have you ever felt stuck not knowing what to say to someone who is grieving?
My perspective comes from losing a child, but the truths I’ve learned can apply to anyone who is dealing with a loss.
In July 2020, my 12-year-old son, Ethan, was diagnosed with T-cell lymphoblastic lymphoma. One day we were talking about summer plans, the next, we were in a hospital room hearing the word “cancer.” Eight months later, he was gone.
Ethan’s story isn’t unique in one heartbreaking way. Thousands of families hear the words “your child has cancer” every year. September is Pediatric Cancer Awareness Month, a reminder that behind every gold ribbon is a child, a family, and a community navigating the unthinkable. Loss in all its forms leaves behind those who need compassion, understanding, and support that lasts longer than a moment.
When your world collapses like that, you notice who steps in and who steps away. You remember the people who showed up without asking, who weren’t afraid to say your loved one’s name, who stayed long after the funeral flowers faded. And you also remember the silence, the friends who didn’t know what to say, so they said nothing at all.
The truth is, there really isn’t anything you can say that takes the pain away. But there are things you can say, and do, that will help. And there are things that, while well-intentioned, can unintentionally make that pain heavier.
🚫 Avoid “Let me know if you need anything.”
On the surface, this sounds helpful. But in the middle of grief, it’s almost impossible to answer.
When someone said it to me after Ethan passed, my brain froze. What did I need? I needed my son back. I needed one more hug, one more laugh, one more ordinary day. Since no one could give me those things, I didn’t even know where to start.
I’d usually say, "I’m okay" or “I’m managing”, not because I didn’t appreciate the offer, but because grief scrambles your ability to think, plan, or reach out.
What helps instead are practical offers with no pressure attached:
- “I’m dropping dinner on your porch Tuesday. You don’t have to answer the door.”
- “I can take care of your yard this weekend or next. Which works better?”
- “I’m making a grocery run. Text me your list.”
- “I can run by the pharmacy and grab your prescriptions.”
- “I’ll take your trash bins to the curb on pickup day this week.”
- “I can walk the dog a few evenings this week so you can rest.”
- “I’ll come sit with you for an hour. You don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.”
In grief, even simple choices feel impossible. Taking that weight off someone’s shoulders is the real help. Offers are nice, but what really makes a difference is when someone actually shows up and does something.
🚫 Avoid “How are you doing?” (at least early on)
It’s instinctive, but in the days and weeks right after a loss, it puts the burden on the grieving person to sum up the impossible. We’re not okay, and we don’t always want to have to say it out loud. Often, we’ll just say “I’m fine.” But we’re not.
Instead, try:
- “It’s good to see you.”
- “I’m glad you’re here.”
When I came back to work a few weeks after Ethan’s passing, I was just trying to get through the day. I often felt put on the spot when people asked how I was doing. People meant well, but it added pressure instead of comfort. In those early weeks, simple acknowledgments went a lot further than questions that made me come up with an answer. Later on, as time passes, “How are you doing?” can feel more natural. But close to the loss, it’s often too much.
🚫 Avoid saying “I’m sorry for your loss.”
It’s such a common phrase that it can end up feeling routine instead of comforting.
When people said it, it felt empty. They were words that didn’t really acknowledge Ethan. He wasn’t a “loss.” He was my son. A whole person. A whole life. A brother. A friend. A future.
It’s the same for anyone grieving. The person they love wasn’t just a role they played. They were a presence, a voice, a source of laughter, comfort, and memories.
What I needed was something that showed he mattered. That someone remembered him, cared beyond the formality, and saw him as more than a ‘loss.’
Simple acknowledgments:
- “I don’t have the right words, but I’m so sorry this is happening.”
- “I hate that this is your reality.”
- “This shouldn’t happen to anyone.”
- “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here to listen if you want to talk.”
Memory-sharing that keeps their loved one present:
- “I remember [loved one’s name].”
- “I was just thinking about [loved one’s name] and wanted to share this memory.”
- “I’ll never forget the way [loved one’s name] made people laugh.”
- “[Loved one’s name]’s life made a difference, and it still does.”
You haven’t walked in my shoes, and I would never want you to. But if you want to walk beside someone who’s hurting, skip the phrases and speak from the heart. Be present, be honest, and remind them their loved one still matters.
🚫 Avoid phrases that minimize grief.
Beyond those typical phrases, there are others that don’t land the way people hope, even when they mean well:
Don’t say:
- “At least they’re not suffering anymore.” That kind of statement can minimize their pain by trying to find a silver lining.
- “Everything happens for a reason.” It can feel dismissive, as if their grief should make sense.
- “You’re so strong.” I heard that a lot. I’d nod like I agreed. But inside, I wasn’t. What I needed was permission to not be strong.
Instead, try:
- “This is so hard. I’m here with you.”
- “I wish you didn’t have to go through this.”
- “It’s okay not to feel strong right now.”
- “I don’t have answers, but I’m here to sit with you in it.”
These words acknowledge the reality of grief without trying to explain it away or hurry someone past it.
🚫 Avoid assumptions about faith or beliefs
It’s not just words. Assumptions can also hurt. Unless you’re invited into that part of someone’s grief, avoid statements that assume they share your faith or worldview about what happens after death.
Phrases like “They’re in a better place,” or “God must have needed another angel” may be meant to comfort, but they can unintentionally deepen the pain. You don’t know what someone believes, and even if you do, grief is too raw for platitudes.
What helps instead is honesty and humility: “I don’t have answers, but I’m here with you.” In the hardest moments, presence often speaks louder than words or beliefs.
✔️ Show up, and keep showing up
Showing up matters, and not just once. Grief doesn’t run on a schedule. The days after a funeral or memorial are often filled with messages, meals, and visitors. And then the weeks pass, and the house gets quieter.
For the grieving person, the weight doesn’t lessen. If anything, it grows heavier as time goes on.
Ways to keep showing up:
- Mark important dates on your calendar, like birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays.
- Send a text on those days: “Thinking of you today and remembering [loved one’s name].”
- Invite them to things even if you think they’ll say no. The invitation itself says, “You still matter to me.”
✔️ Honor their loved one’s memory
This is one of the most meaningful things you can do.
- Share a memory or photo.
- Donate to a cause connected to their life.
- Do something kind in their name and tell the family about it.
In September, wearing a gold ribbon or sharing a pediatric cancer fact is one way to raise awareness for families like mine. But pairing that with compassionate action for any grieving person you know makes it personal, and that’s what they’ll remember.
For me, talking about Ethan isn’t reopening a wound. It’s keeping him in the room. It’s proof that his life still ripples outward.
✔️ Learn to sit in the uncomfortable
You can’t fix grief. You can’t make it shorter, neater, or less painful. But you can be there for it.
Sometimes the best thing you can do is sit in silence, listen without fixing, or let them be angry without talking them out of it.
Grief is messy. But if you show up anyway, you’re telling your friend, “I can handle this with you.”
🌸 Why this matters
In the end, the greatest gifts you can give are presence and patience. For families living with loss, those simple acts matter most. That’s how you love and support someone through grief. ❤️
About the author:
Brian Perry is a longtime KPRC employee and storyteller. He writes about hope, resilience, community, and pediatric cancer awareness, believing that even the smallest stories and acts of kindness can ripple outward and make a difference. He is also co-founder of Ethan’s Ohana, a nonprofit honoring his son.
More stories from Brian:
Beyond Breakfast Biscuits: A father’s emotional journey to the Chick-fil-A Headquarters
I lost my son: What I’ve learned about cancer care for kids since
How Chick-fil-A biscuits are bringing comfort to grieving father
Give Kids a Chance Act: A step forward in the fight against childhood cancer
As a cancer dad, the new Kinder Children’s Cancer Center gives me real hope