Tactical Kindness: Alternatives to “Sorry for your loss”

Ask if they'd like to share a happy memory. Offer specific help. No need to steer toward positivity.

"Tactical Kindness" is a new monthly newsletter segment where I explore the practice and craft of Kindness — not as an expert, but as someone trying to improve and document their own journey.  

Each month, I will spotlight small, intentional gestures I’m trying on to counteract the effects of isolation and mistrust. I’ve always believed kindness is contagious; by practicing it, we inspire others to do the same, creating a ripple effect of goodwill. 

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Even after losing my father and navigating grief, I still feel a wave of panic when death comes up in conversation, like I suddenly have to sit for an exam I didn't study for. 

In those moments, “I’m so sorry” or “Sorry for your loss” are easy fallbacks my mind can grab onto when it goes blank. They feel safer than coming up with something on the spot that might unintentionally offend.  

But when I was on the receiving end of hearing “Sorry for your loss” it never felt very comforting.   

It felt like another "How are you?" and "I'm good" exchange—a scripted, call and response social etiquette we both follow without much thought. 

I loved

Chris Guillebeau

’s essay on saying “Congratulations on your new life” instead of offering condolences when someone loses their job. Going off script can reinvigorate a conversation and make the other person feel truly seen. 

When death comes up in conversation, it’s an invitation to connect, share a human moment, and offer comfort to someone in need.  

I don’t want to waste these moments on more hollow, scripted exchanges – and I don’t want others to either.  

 So, without further ado, here’s a list of alternatives to “Sorry for your loss.” I hope you find one that feels right. 

1. Ask them if they would like to share a happy or funny memory about the person they lost 

• “Would you like to share a favorite story or memory about [name]?" 

• "What was [name] like? I’d love to hear more about them." 

• Or share your own, "One of my favorite memories of [name] is when we..." 

This was my first thought on what I wish someone had asked me. After someone dies, the shock lingers like afterimages, making it hard to remember life with them. It can be healing to recall and relive positive memories and find that memory bank is still there to comfort you.  

One story about my dad came to mind—his feud with the woodpeckers in our yard. I’ve included it at the end of this article as an example of how much richer these conversations can be. 

2. Offer tangible and specific help and support 

• "Would it be okay if I checked in on you later this week?" 

• "I’m so sorry you’re going through this. If you need to talk or even just someone to run errands with, I’m here.”  

• “I overcooked and made a huge batch of spaghetti; I’ll bring some by your house later this week if that’s okay.” 

• “Let me know if I can ever pick up [child’s name] from school or take them for a play date. I would love to spend time with them if you ever need some time for yourself.” 

"Let me know if you need anything" became my least favorite phrase to hear, despite the good intentions behind it.  

After talking with others who have grieved, I realized it places the burden on the grieving person - who is already overwhelmed – to figure out what they need. When you're numb, it’s hard to recognize or articulate your needs, and the offer is often too vague to know what kind of help is even available. 

Instead, offering specific forms of help — a meal, company, or a ride to see family — can be more supportive and take the pressure off them to ask. They may already find it difficult to reach out due to pride, fear of being a burden, or uncertainty about the offer’s sincerity. 

Other Ideas Bank: Meal delivery, errands (laundry, dishes), childcare, house cleaning, pet care, dog walking, administrative support (bills, phone calls), keeping them company (watch a movie), driving to appointments or visits, grocery delivery, creating a memory book, or gathering photos and stories about their loved one. 

If you have any other suggestions, please let me know—I’d love to continue to update this list with ideas from the comments! 

3. Acknowledge you are limited but have good intentions  

• "I don’t have the right words, but I’m always here to listen." 

• "I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I’m here for you." 

I found it refreshing and comforting when people without experience in loss acknowledged it, yet knew that simply offering their quiet presence - just sitting together without talking - was more than enough. 

4. Acknowledge their connection while being mindful not to assume  

• "I know how much [name] meant to you. Your bond was really special." 

• "The love you and [name] shared was truly remarkable." 

If you know the grieving person well, and you also understand the dynamic between them and the one they lost, you're uniquely positioned to offer the comforting validation that their connection was special. 

However, this can backfire if offered without awareness of the relationship's complexity. For example, saying, “The bond between a father and son is so precious,” can risk alienating because relationships often remain complex, even in death. 

The same applies to assuming closeness with surviving family members. When I mention my dad’s death, people often try to immediately steer the conversation to more positive ground, asking about my mom or my siblings.  

This may be to reassure themselves or move to a more comfortable topic—like the idea of a great family, but after talking to many people, I’ve learned it’s best not to assume closeness. Many are dealing with limited contact or strong boundaries with their families, and such assumptions can feel like a double punch, reminding them of the support they lack.  

In Summary: Four Alternatives to “Sorry for your Loss” 

1. Ask them if they would like to share a happy or funny memory about the person they lost 

2. Offer tangible and specific help and support 

3. Acknowledge you are limited but have good intentions 

4. Acknowledge their connection while being mindful not to assume 

And as promised, my response if someone were to take the first approach and ask me to share a happy or funny memory about my Dad: 

I grew up in the Sonoran Desert, where, like many desert dwellers, we had a towering Saguaro cactus in our yard. These giants, reaching up to sixty feet, are federally protected. My dad had nurtured this cactus from a three-foot stump to a majestic twenty-foot pillar, it was a show room Saguaro, a point of pride.   

But Saguaro cacti also serve as homes to native species—including my father's natural enemy, the Gila Woodpecker. True to nature, a woodpecker we later named “Joey” chose our Saguaro, pecking a large hole in its trunk to build his nest.  

This provocation started a territorial war - Man versus nature. My dad, determined to keep his cactus pristine, deployed every technology in his arsenal as an engineer.  

I'd leave for school to find specks of foil scattered across the gravel—my dad’s attempt to cover the hole with tin foil. Joey pecked it all out and had moved back in, now with a wife. 

Next came metal mesh over the hole. Joey simply enlarged the opening, turning his nest into a two-bedroom, garden-view apartment for his growing family. 

Finally, my dad surrendered. His last act was to hang a tiny white flag and a small “Welcome Home” sign above Joey’s apartment. 

I love and cherish this story, and retelling it brings me comfort. It’s helped me connect with others, and I hope it shows the kind of connection we can miss when we rely on “sorry for your loss.” 

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I’d love to hear more from you! 

What responses have actually been comforting? 

What questions do you wish people would ask you? 

If you’d like to support this work, please comment, share or you can buy me a coffee.