Grief Support: 8 Ways to Comfort the Brokenhearted

Grief support is something I used to think I was good at until life decided to body-slam me with a pop quiz.

Like, two years ago my best friend Jess lost her little brother in a car wreck and I showed up at her house with a freaking lasagna and the words “everything happens for a reason” actually came out of my mouth. I still want to punch past-me in the face for that one. Anyway, fast-forward to now—I’m sitting cross-legged on my couch in Ohio, it’s 30 degrees outside, there’s a half-drunk pumpkin spice latte getting cold next to me because it’s basically December and I’m still pretending it’s fall, and I’m finally ready to talk about actual grief support that doesn’t suck. https://www.npr.org/2021/11/08/1053739142/grief-loss-holiday-support

Why Most Grief Support Advice Feels Like a Lie

Everyone’s like “just be there” and I’m over here like… cool, but what does that even mean when someone’s literally sobbing into your hoodie at 3 a.m.? I tried that. I sat in silence. Turns out silence can feel like you’re secretly judging them for falling apart. Lesson learned the hard way.

8 Ways I Actually Figured Out to Offer Real Grief Support

1. Show up dirty and honest
   I stopped showering for three days after my own dad died. When I finally dragged myself to Jess’s place, hair looking like a raccoon’s nightmare, she hugged me and whispered “thank you for not pretending to have your shit together.” Turns out matching their chaos is sometimes the best grief support.
2. Bring food but make it weirdly specific
   None of that “here’s a casserole” nonsense. I brought her the exact sour gummy worms her brother used to steal from her purse. She cried harder, yeah, but then she laughed through the snot because it was so him. Grief support isn’t always pretty, y’all.
3. Say the dead person’s name. A lot.
   People act like the name is radioactive. I started every text with “Thinking of Jake today” and suddenly she could breathe again. Turns out saying his name out loud is oxygen when you’re drowning.
4. Offer to do the stupid adulting they can’t
   I paid her electric bill online once because she forgot and the lights went out. Didn’t ask permission. Just sent her a screenshot that said “handled, love you.” Sometimes grief support looks like Venmo requests at 2 a.m.
5. Let them be a hot mess (and match the energy)
   One night she wanted to get wasted on cheap tequila and scream in the Walmart parking lot at midnight. So we did. I held her hair, she held mine ten minutes later. 10/10 grief support move.
6. Send the most unhinged memes
   Yes, really. Three weeks in I sent her a raccoon stealing lasagna with the caption “me trying to comfort you vs me actually comforting you.” She snorted so hard she choked. Laughter during grief feels illegal but it’s medicine.
7. Check in on the random Tuesdays
   Everyone shows up day one. I set recurring reminders for the 17th of every month because that was the day it happened. Still do it two years later. That’s the grief support that actually sticks.
8. Admit when you’re terrified and failing
   I told her straight up, “I’m scared I’m doing this wrong and I love you too much to mess you up more.” Turns out vulnerability is the ultimate grief support hack. https://optionb.org/topics/grief

The One Thing I Still Screw Up in Grief Support (And Probably Always Will)

I still catch myself wanting to fix it. Like if I find the perfect words the hurt will magically shrink. It won’t. Some days the best grief support I can offer is shutting up and handing over the good tissues (the ones with lotion because regular ones feel like sandpaper when you’ve been crying for 48 hours straight).

Look, I’m still a mess. My Christmas tree is up way too early because retail therapy is real and Target had 50% off twinkle lights. But if you’re reading this while googling “how to help someone grieving” at 1 a.m. with puffy eyes—first, hydrate—second, you’re already doing better than I did with the lasagna incident. https://www.grief.com/the-five-stages-of-grief/

Just show up. Be willing to look stupid. Say their person’s name. That’s it.

If this helped even a little, share it with someone who’s currently drowning and doesn’t know how to ask for a life raft. Or hell, text it to your own future self because grief has a way of circling back around when you least expect it. https://refugeingrief.com

You’ve got this. We’ve got this. Even when it feels like we absolutely don’t. (And yeah, I’m crying again. Whatever. Pass the gummies.)