What not to say when someone dies

 

What Not to Say After Someone Dies

People say all kinds of hurtful things.

Some folks grope for words in the midst of grief and sorrow and trip all over their tongues. They end up saying something hurtful—sometimes deeply so. And it’s doubly painful when the ones who say these things are the very people we look to for comfort.

If you’re reading this and preparing to be with someone who is dying—or supporting someone who has lost a loved one—please, watch your tongue.

Over the years, I’ve heard people say terrible things to those who are grieving. Let me walk you through some of the worst, so you can avoid doubling down on someone’s sorrow and instead offer genuine care.

If you’re the one who’s dying, I don’t need to tell you that people will say all kinds of ridiculous things to you. They don’t know what to say when someone’s lost their hair, sixty pounds, and is suffering from chemo. Instead of simply sitting in silence with you, they fill the space with small talk. They’ll compliment your “new hairstyle” or say something like, “Well, you needed to lose a few pounds.” Or, on the other end: “You look like death warmed over.” I encourage you to be patient. They’re trying to find words that sometimes are just hard to say. You would think words like, “I love you,” “I’m here for you” would be obvious. But some people just can’t help it. They use their tongue like a shovel—digging themselves deeper with every word. I often want to say, “Stop. Just stop. Please, shut up. You’re making this worse. Take the shovel out of your mouth before you bury yourself in the hole you’ve dug.”

So let’s look at some of the worst offenders.

 “Everything happens for a reason.”

Ugh. I hate this one.

Most people who say this are trying to bring comfort. They mean well. But what they don’t realize is they’re trying to impose their sense of order on something that feels like utter chaos to you.

My husband died in a terrible car accident. Don’t tell me it was for a greater reason.

My six-year-old child died of cancer. Don’t tell me it had a divine purpose.

My partner died of ALS. Don’t tell me it was part of God’s plan.

Don’t say it. Just don’t.

Even if that’s your belief, this is not the time to foist it on someone else. Death often doesn’t make sense. Don’t try to fit grief into neat categories of life and eternal life.

This phrase can make people feel as if they shouldn’t be grieving—because the death was “meant to be.” It can silence sorrow when sorrow is the only true response. Sometimes there is no plan. Sometimes it just feels like the world is unraveling.

“They’re in a better place.”

I once stood next to a grieving widow after the memorial service. She had cared for her husband through a long illness. After hearing, “They’re in a better place,” for the tenth time, she finally said, “My place was a pretty good place.”

We say this to bring comfort—but really, it’s to comfort ourselves. And it dismisses the home, the bedside, the hospital room—the space where love and tenderness lived—as second-rate.

The same goes for, “They’re in better hands now.”

What about the hands that fed soup to a shaking mouth?
What about the hands that washed an aching body?
What about the grandchild’s hand stroking a grandfather’s cheek?

Those are good hands. Don't belittle the love and care that carried someone through their final days. Don’t replace gratitude with theological speculation. Just offer a blessing. Say, “Thank you for loving them so well.”

 

“At least you lived a long life.”

If you’re dying in old age, someone is bound to say, “Well, at least you lived a good long life. Why be upset?”

What they don’t realize is that death is hard at any age. People in their nineties still want more time. Grief isn’t measured in years. Whether someone was 25 or 105, if you're dying, it never feels like enough life. 

                  The same goes for someone who has died well into their senior years. Don’t say, “Well, at lease they lived a long life.” It’s a statement you make to somehow bring sense to your own life.  If you’re a senior imagine someone standing at your coffin saying, “Well, at least he was old when he died. Better than being half his age. At least he got to live his life.” It’s pretty heartless. Have a heart, keep your mouth closed. Don’t say this. 

 

“At least they’re no longer suffering.”

Sure, no one wants their loved one to suffer. But the grieving person didn’t want them dead either—they wanted them to live and to be well. This phrase tries to comfort by pointing out what’s been “relieved,” but it bypasses the depth of the loss.

What’s better is not their absence—it’s their presence, free of pain.

“I know just how you feel.”

No, you don’t.

This one is usually followed by a long story about Uncle Harry’s death. It’s not helpful. You don’t know what someone else feels, because you’re not them. Their story is unique. Their sorrow is personal. Don’t minimize someone else’s pain by switching the focus to your own unresolved feelings. 

 

“You’ll get over it. Time heals all wounds.”

 Grief doesn't work on a schedule.

Sure, grief reshapes over time, but it doesn’t go away. Often, we don’t want it to—because grief connects us to the love we lost.

I know parents who, decades later, can still tell you exactly how old their child would be. That’s not being stuck. That’s being human.

 

“Be strong for your family.”

What if strength looks like sobbing?
What if strength is collapsing in someone’s arms?

This phrase pressures people to hide their grief. Sometimes the strongest thing someone can do is fall apart. They great insight is can you be the strong one and stand with them, being willing to sit with them, to hold them while they’re being as strong as they possibly can. Don’t impose onto them what your idea of strength is. 

 

“It’s time to move on.”

Grief doesn’t come with an expiration date.

Sure, some people get stuck. And when they do, a therapist—not a casual acquaintance—can help. But most grieving people are doing their best. Some will never “move on.” That’s okay.

 

“God needed another angel.”

When a child dies, this one often shows up—and it’s devastating.

No. That child needed to be in their parents’ arms, not God’s. God doesn’t need more angels. And even if you believe it, don’t say it. Don’t try to comfort the inconsolable with a cliché.

 

“You’re young—you can have another child.”

Or: “At least you have other children.”

No. Just no.

This child was not replaceable. None are. Saying these things dismisses the depth of a parent’s sorrow. Instead of reminding them of their responsibilities, maybe offer to help care for their living children so they can take time to grieve.

 

Were they saved?

This is said by Christians wanting to make sure the person who died is going to heaven. What’s frustrating about this saying is it shifts the feeling of pain to your own theological beliefs. What you happen to believe is not important at this time, if ever. Keep your beliefs to yourself and instead try to share God’s love with someone who is hurting. 

So what can you say?

Here are a few things that are always appropriate:

• “I’m so sorry for your loss.” (It might sound basic, but it’s honest and gentle.)
• “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here for you.”
• “I’m holding you in my heart.” (Simple, compassionate, and real.)

One of the most powerful things you can do is bring up the name of the person who died. So many grieving people feel like the world has forgotten their loved one. But they want to talk about them. They want to remember.

Invite them to tell you stories. Take them for coffee. Ask, “What’s one of your favorite memories?”

Sometimes the most appropriate thing to say is nothing at all. Just sit. Be present. Weep with those who weep.

 We say a lot of things to people—some that uplift, and some that harm. But death offers us a sacred opportunity to be kind, to be gentle, to love well.

Don’t botch it by saying something stupid.
Let your heart lead.
It will never steer you wrong.