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Supporting our grieving
friends & family
How to Support a Grieving Parent from Far Away
From one grieving parent to the friends and family who want to help
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When my son William died, I learned quickly that grief doesn’t care about distance. Whether you live down the street or across the country, your love still matters. And when you feel helpless, unsure of what to say or do, please know: there are ways to show up, even from afar. Here’s what I want you to know, from the heart of someone living this every day.
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Don’t wait for perfect words—just say something.
The messages that meant the most to me were the ones that simply said, “I love you. I’m thinking of you. I’m so sorry.” It’s okay if it’s awkward. Silence hurts more than imperfection. Reach out. Call. Text. Leave a voice note. Say their child’s name.
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Send comfort that lasts.
I didn’t need another vase of flowers. I needed softness, warmth, and things that made it easier to survive the day. Send a cozy blanket, new pajamas, warm socks, gift cards for takeout, a comforting book, or even just snacks. The smallest gestures mattered more than you’d think.
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Quietly organize care behind the scenes.
If you're far away, you can still take things off our plates. Set up a meal train with local friends. Hire a house cleaner for a few weeks. Have groceries delivered. These are the things we often don’t have energy to ask for but desperately need.
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Send something that honors their child.
The most meaningful gifts I received weren’t fancy—they were personal. A framed photo. A bracelet with my child’s name. A letter about a memory someone had never shared before. Those moments become treasures. When there’s nothing new to make, new memories are everything.
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Visit later—when everyone else has stopped showing up.
The funeral is a blur. If you can’t come right away, that’s okay. Consider visiting a month or two later, when the quiet sets in. When everyone else has moved on, just sitting with us, even in silence, can be the most profound support.
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Mark the hard days and keep checking in.
Grief doesn't follow a timeline. The pain sharpens on birthdays, death anniversaries, Mother’s Day, the first day of school. Mark those dates. Send a text. A card. Light a candle and tell them you did. Just knowing someone else remembers means the world.
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Say their child’s name. Always.
Don’t worry about “reminding” us of our loss. We never forget. What we fear is that everyone else will. Hearing our child’s name spoken aloud is a gift. It tells us: they still matter.
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Give without needing a response.
We may not text back. We may not say thank you. Please don’t take it personally. Your support is still received, deeply. In grief, energy is scarce, but love doesn’t go unnoticed.
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Be present, not fix-it.
There’s nothing you can do to make it better, and that’s okay. Just be with us in it. Cry with us. Be steady. We don’t need solutions. We need to feel.
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Understand we’re not the same—and that’s okay.
Grief changes us. Sometimes it makes us quieter. Sometimes we don’t want to talk. Keep loving us. We’re still here, even if we feel far away.
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Supporting from afar still counts.
You don’t have to live nearby to make an impact. Presence comes in many forms. A text. A letter. A package. A prayer. A memory. All of it matters.​ We just want to feel less alone. And your love, even from a distance, is a lifeline.
—Bereavement Mom
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Thoughts on supporting friends during profound loss
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Say something. Anything.
You might feel like you don’t know what to say—but silence can be more painful than imperfect words. Call, text, or write. Start with: “I’m so sorry.” or “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here.” Even that is enough. -
Share a memory of their child.
When a child dies, no new memories will be made. So the ones you hold are precious. Tell them something beautiful or funny you remember—especially something they may not have known. -
Say how special their child was to you.
Let them know the impact their child had on your life or your family. Knowing their child mattered—and still matters—brings enormous comfort. -
Avoid phrases that start with “At least…”
“At least they didn’t suffer” or “At least you have other children” may be well-intentioned, but they minimize grief. Just be present in the sadness without trying to fix it. -
Don’t ask what they need—just do something.
Saying “Let me know if you need anything” puts the burden on the griever. Instead, offer something concrete:
“I’ll stop by Thursday to weed the garden.”
“I’m bringing dinner tonight.”
“I’ll come sit with you while you cry.” -
Just show up and sit with them.
Grief doesn’t always need words. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is simply be there—quietly, lovingly, without expectations. Let them lead the conversation… or the silence. -
Keep showing up—in a week, in a month, in three months.
Grief doesn’t end after the funeral. Send a message: “I’m thinking of you.” or “This must still be so hard. I see you.” Consistent support over time is everything. -
Don’t expect anything in return.
Grievers don’t have the energy to reciprocate. Don’t wait for a thank-you note or acknowledgment. Give because you care—not to be appreciated. -
Try not to compare their loss to yours.
This is their grief. Sharing about your own loss—even if it feels similar—can feel dismissive in the early days. Hold space for their pain without making it about your experience. -
Remember important dates.
Mark their child’s birthday, the anniversary of their death, and other milestones in your calendar. Reach out with a message or small gesture to say: “I remember.” -
Say their child’s name.
Don’t be afraid to speak their name. It may bring tears, but it also brings comfort. It shows their child is still remembered, still loved, still real. -
Offer support for siblings too.
If there are surviving siblings, remember them. Include them in plans, ask how they’re doing, drop off something just for them. Siblings often carry grief quietly and feel overlooked. -
Be patient with who they become.
Grief changes people. Your friend may not laugh the same way, respond the same way, or show up how they used to. That’s okay. Let them evolve. Love them as they are now.