Someone I know is grieving or in hospital — what can I actually do?

Four pages in this library speak to it. Offer one thing, with a day on it is for the friend of someone who is grieving. Bring the long charger is for the visitor to a hospital bed. Say “that’s hard” before “have you tried” is for the moment someone tells you what they are going through. When someone has cancer, keep other people’s cancer stories for when they ask is for the friend of someone with cancer, and its safety lines open its section. The grief page’s two exceptions come first.

If your friend says they want to die, or talks about ending their life, do not leave them on their own. Offer one thing, with a day on it says stay, or get someone else to stay, and call or text 988 in the US, or call Samaritans on 116 123 in the UK and Ireland — elsewhere, your local crisis line. Both are free, both answer at any hour, and both take calls from people who are worried about someone else. If they are in danger right now, call 911 in the US or 999 in the UK — elsewhere, your local emergency number. The second exception: if your friend has stopped eating and drinking altogether, that is now a medical problem as well as grief. Get them seen by a doctor the same day — their own doctor or urgent care in the US; in the UK, 111 will tell you where to go. If they are confused, unusually drowsy, hard to wake or have fainted, do not wait: call 911 in the US or 999 in the UK. On a friend who asks to be left alone, one person’s answer is to respect it, because grief is not the same as depression, and the same person draws the line: if there are signs of serious depression, or of wanting to die, the wish to be alone is not the thing to follow. One person who lives with depression said that for them, wanting to be left alone was part of the illness, and others there answered that specific, low-pressure help can still be welcome; the page says a message that needs no answer is one way to respect the request and keep the door open at once. The Resource Bank here has the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: free, confidential support from a trained counselor, any time, by call or text, where veterans press 1.

Instead of “let me know if you need anything,” offer one specific thing on a specific day — and keep checking in long after the funeral. Offer one thing, with a day on it says people made the same point: the open offer hands a job to the person least able to do it. To use it, a grieving person has to work out what they need, decide what is fair to ask of you in particular, then pick up the phone and ask, and grief takes the energy each of those steps needs. A specific offer — “I’ll come and trim the hedge on Thursday,” “I’m bringing dinner tomorrow and leaving it at the door” — leaves them only yes or no. If you cannot guess, ask “what needs doing?” rather than “how can I help?”. The jobs people named are ordinary: cooking, washing up, laundry, mowing the lawn, trimming the hedge, cleaning the litter box, washing the car, watching the children, the grocery run, and the errands and arrangements that follow a death, down to selling the belongings of the person who died. Offer only what you will actually do: one person says offers that are not kept, once the grieving person asks for something specific, have ended friendships. One person warns don’t turn up at the door unannounced, because even a kind visit can feel intrusive and strange at a time like this; the page’s reading is to text or call to arrange the visit, then do the work without making them host you.

People had a lot to say about food. Some of the page’s detail: bring what is easy to eat, things that reheat, and when the fresh food runs out, a gift card for a delivery service keeps them fed; if other people are bringing food, agree between you who brings what; use containers they never have to give back. Some people say food lands better with an offer to stay or to help than as a drop-off at the door, if they want you there, and food on its own can feel like a box ticked if nobody comes back, so pair it with a day you’ll return to do the laundry or the dishes.

On what to say, some people describe a short, plain condolence, with no attempt to be profound or poetic, or to explain the death. The lines named as the ones that hurt: anything that starts “well, at least…”, and “it could be worse”; comparisons, your loss against theirs, or one kind of death as better or worse than another; “everything happens for a reason”, “it was their time”, “time heals”, “this too shall pass”; “they’re in a better place”, “it was for the best”; “I understand what you’re going through”, where it is better to admit you can’t fully know, and to say you are there; “there are no words”, which some people list among the lines that make a loss smaller while one person said admitting you don’t know what to say beats a cliché, the page’s reading being that the difference is whether the sentence stops there or goes on to what you will do; “it was just an animal”, when the loss is a pet; and “grieving is selfish”, or “they’re fine now”. Some people there name religious and fatalistic lines — “God’s plan”, “God’s will”, “God needed an angel” — and some people explain part of the problem: they press a belief onto a grieving person who may not share it. Any suggestion that a death happened because of weak faith, too little prayer, or something the person did wrong does lasting damage to a friendship, one person says; don’t say it, even gently. If they bring their faith, follow them; if they don’t, don’t bring it for them. Don’t ask how the person died; if they tell you, listen. One person points out that a flat “never ask” goes too far, so let them be the one to bring it up.

After the condolence, the page says, the people there genuinely disagree, and it gives both sides. One says say it simply, then let them lead: stop after the condolence, stay if they want you there, listen, and leave it to them whether to talk about the person. The other says give them something of the person: silence after “I’m sorry” can feel like being left on your own, so share one specific memory, or a funny story they may never have heard, though done without tact it can backfire, so it helps to have known them, and to read the moment or ask first. What decides it, as people there put it, is how close you were to the person who died and to the one grieving, and who this particular grieving person is; the page’s own reading is that if you cannot tell, the plain condolence followed by “do you want to talk about it?” lets them choose.

On space, some people say some grieving people want company and conversation, others want space and silence, and the way to know is to ask, or to watch. Before you visit, text, and tell them they don’t need to reply. Then keep going: some people say the support should carry on weeks, months, even years later, especially around anniversaries, and some people describe people showing up for the first couple of weeks and then disappearing. One person’s method is a calendar reminder — weekly at first, then every two weeks, then monthly — and the page says to put the anniversary of the death in there too, and the person’s birthday. On counselling, the page says go gently, with little reason to push it on a friend who is grieving in the ordinary, awful way; if they seem stuck, or sinking, and they are open to it, doing the searching for a counsellor or a grief group, and sitting with them while they make the call, is the kind of specific offer the page is about. If your friend’s family has lost a child, the Resource Bank here has The Compassionate Friends: support for families after a child of any age has died, from any cause, given by others who have lost a child too, with free local chapters, online groups and private Facebook groups, in the US; grandparents and siblings are welcome as well.

Bring small things that fix a hospital’s discomforts — a long charger, non-slip footwear, lip balm, earplugs — and check any food or drink with the nurse, not the patient. Bring the long charger puts its safety line first. Before you bring anything to eat or drink — a snack, a sauce, salt, sweets, a big bottle of fizzy drink — ask the nurse looking after them, not the patient. The person may be on “nothing by mouth” before an operation or a test: under an anaesthetic the body cannot cough to protect the airway, so anything in the stomach can end up in the lungs, and a patient who has eaten may have their operation put off. They may be on a limit for how much they can drink; heart failure is one example. They may have trouble swallowing, so that the wrong food can make them choke. Or their salt, sugar or potassium may be controlled: salt substitutes are often high in potassium, which kidneys that are not working well cannot clear. Patients forget what they are allowed, or say it is fine when it is not; the nurse has the chart. And leave ordinary socks without grips at home. On a hospital floor they slip. One person adds: know their allergies first. And some units don’t allow outside food at all. Shop-bought and sealed is safer than homemade or unwrapped.

The page’s first step: before you go, call the ward, or ask at the desk when you arrive: “Is there anything they can’t eat or drink right now, and is there anything I shouldn’t bring in?” Many people named a long charging cable, or a charged power bank, because the socket is often far from the bed; one person warns a cable stretched across the floor is a trip hazard that fall-safety rules forbid, so ask the nurse where to plug in; one person warns extension leads are generally not allowed in patient areas either, so check before you bring one. Wards are noisy and bright, some people say, and the monitors beep; an eye mask and earplugs are cheap and they get used, especially in a shared room. Some people mention lip balm and hand cream, and one warning applies to all of it: ask the nurse before bringing a cream or a lotion, because some products can interfere with treatment. On footwear, the page gives both sides: people say grip-soled socks, or slippers with a non-slip sole, while a 2026 NHS guideline in Scotland says grip socks are a stopgap with little evidence that they prevent falls, and asks for well-fitting shoes with laces or a strap rather than slip-on slippers, and a small 2023 study in one hospital in Spain found fewer falls with grip socks than with well-fitting footwear. Ask the nurse what this person should wear on this ward.

Many people mention flowers, and not kindly. Some wards ban them outright, and the cautions single out intensive care, where flowers and potted plants are often not allowed. The US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention advises keeping fresh and dried flowers and potted plants away from patients whose immune system is weakened, because they can harbour a mould that infects them, while noting there is little evidence of harm to other patients. So check with the ward, and if in doubt, give them to the person at home instead, as one person did. The exception, one person said, is someone you know loves flowers and who isn’t already surrounded by them.

On visits, some people say being there matters more than any gift, and three also say to ask first, because some patients hate being seen unwell or find a visitor tiring when they feel awful. One warning: don’t promise to visit, or to bring something, unless you are sure you will, because for someone who cannot get out of bed, a visit that does not happen is a long, disappointing day. If they are on a psychiatric ward, the rules are stricter, and they exist for safety. A psychiatrist and others there say the wards they know do not allow anything with strings or cords, glass (including picture frames), electronics, sharp things, ordinary pens and pencils included, or products with alcohol in them, which can include lotions and conditioners; clothing and fabric can be restricted too. Check with the staff before you bring anything at all.

When someone tells you what they’re going through, acknowledge that it’s hard before you offer anything else. Say “that’s hard” before “have you tried” gives the small working set of the people who practise it: “That’s really hard.” “That must suck.” “I’m sorry you’re going through that.” “I can only imagine what that’s like.” Skip the acknowledgment, it says, and even brilliant advice lands as dismissal. When you can’t fix it and they know you can’t, its second move is to say your confidence in them out loud: this is awful, and you’re handling it. If you do have something, offer it as a question, “want to hear a thought?”, because invited advice is a gift and the same advice uninvited is a grade. The page names two exceptions: sometimes people come to you precisely because you are the expert, and genuine emergencies want action, not acknowledgment. The acknowledgment-first rule, it says, is for troubles, not emergencies.

When someone tells you they have cancer, say you are sorry and that you are there, and keep stories about other people’s cancer for when they ask. When someone has cancer, keep other people’s cancer stories for when they ask puts two things before its advice. The first is infection. Cancer treatment can weaken the immune system, and the American Cancer Society (ACS) says: “Don’t be around someone with cancer if you are sick or have a fever or other signs of infection.” If the person you are with is having treatment and has a fever or other signs of infection, the ACS says to call their cancer care team or get medical help as soon as possible. In the US, the ACS says to go to the emergency room for any of these: chills or sweats; cold, clammy or pale skin; cough or trouble breathing; new or worse confusion; feeling dizzy, lightheaded or falling down; chest pain; not being able to get out of bed for more than 24 hours; passing no urine, or only very little that is dark orange or brown. It says to tell the staff the person has cancer and has had treatment. The ACS counts a fever in a person with cancer as 100.4°F (38°C) or higher for at least one hour, the National Cancer Institute (NCI) gives 100.5°F (38°C), and the ACS says the cancer team may set a different number, so the team’s number is the one to use. The NCI says to talk with a doctor or nurse before taking any medicine for a fever, even aspirin, acetaminophen or ibuprofen, because these can lower a fever but hide signs of something more serious. In the UK, Macmillan Cancer Support says to contact the hospital straight away on the number the person was given if their temperature goes over 37.5°C or below 36°C, if they suddenly feel unwell even with a normal temperature, or if they have symptoms of an infection. Cancer Research UK gives the same two temperatures for calling the 24-hour advice line straight away, and says a very low temperature is as important to report as a high one. It says to call 999 or go to A&E immediately for slurred speech or confusion, extreme shivering or muscle pain, passing no urine in a day, severe breathlessness, a feeling that you are going to die, or mottled or discoloured skin, and that these skin changes can be harder to see on black or brown skin, where the palms or inside of the forearms may show them. In any emergency, call 911 in the US or 999 in the UK. Food can carry infection too: the ACS has a list of foods to avoid when a person’s white blood cell count is low, so before you cook or bring food, ask what their team has told them. The second thing is the person’s safety: if they talk about wanting to die, or you are afraid for their safety, stay with them or get someone else to stay, and call or text 988 in the US, or call Samaritans on 116 123 in the UK, at any hour. If they are in danger now, call 911 or 999.

Many people who shared advice about this suggest leaving other people’s stories out when someone has only just told you, because it moves the conversation off the person in front of you. The charities say the same. Macmillan says: “It may not be helpful to tell the person about other people’s stories. Cancer is different for everyone.” The ACS says: “It’s usually best not to share stories about family members or friends who have had cancer. Everyone is different, and these stories may not be helpful.” Its plain words instead are “I’m not sure what to say, but I want you to know I care. I’m here for you.” and “I’m sorry to hear that you are going through this.” If you have been close to cancer yourself, the ACS suggests telling them you are familiar with it because you have been through it with someone else, “then they can pick up the conversation from there.” Macmillan says that if you find it hard to talk, “it is okay to say, ‘I don’t know what to say’.” The ACS also says: “don’t share their news unless they have given you permission.”

Cancer charities, and some people who have had cancer, name lines that can land badly even when kindly said: “I know how you feel”; “be strong”, “be positive” or “fight it”, which Cancer Research UK says put pressure on the person to behave a certain way; “it will be fine”, where Macmillan says it is better to let people speak honestly about their feelings; and comments on how they look, where the ACS says to let them know if they look good and to avoid remarks when their appearance is not as good. Some people say that calling cancer a battle implies that someone who dies did not fight hard enough, and the ACS says to ask the person how they feel about battle language before you use it, because for some it is motivating and for others hurtful. The ACS says not to offer medical advice or opinions on diet, vitamins and herbal therapies unless asked.

Before you visit, call or text. Macmillan lists “Do not visit if you are not feeling well” for a visit at home and a hospital visit, the NCI says people having treatment should stay away from people who are sick, and Macmillan says the risk is highest about 7 to 14 days after chemotherapy, though it varies, so their own team can say when it applies. If you live with the person or spend a lot of time with them, the ACS says that “Household contacts, including children and teens, are a major source of exposure to infections,” and that it is important for family members, caregivers and other close contacts to be vaccinated; it says to talk to the person’s health care team before you or anyone close to you has any vaccine, because most can be given but there are exceptions. If you cook, the ACS says to ask what they feel like eating. Its list for when a person’s white blood cell count is low says to avoid, among other things: raw or lightly cooked fish, shellfish and sushi; raw or soft-cooked eggs and foods made with raw eggs; unpasteurized milk, cheese and juice; soft, mold-ripened and blue-veined cheeses; raw vegetable sprouts; raw nuts and fresh nut butters; and foods from deli counters, buffets and bulk bins. For anyone cooking, it says to cook meat until it is no longer pink and the juices run clear, that a food thermometer is the only sure check, and not to leave egg dishes or cream- and mayonnaise-based foods out of the fridge for more than an hour. In the UK, Macmillan says some foods can carry harmful bacteria, especially shellfish, poultry and eggs, and that some people may get specific advice from their nurse. Ask the person or the family what their team has told them, and ask before sending flowers, because one person says hospital units often do not allow them.

An offer with a day on it works here too: the ACS, writing about the parents of a child with cancer, says to be specific, for example “I can let the dog out while you’re at the doctor tomorrow”, and Cancer Research UK says to make sure you can commit to any offer you make. If you are thinking of raising money, the ACS says to check with your friend first, because “Sometimes, raising money or crowdfunding can affect their benefits.” When treatment ends, the ACS says it is common for phone calls, doctor visits and support to fade away, and that the move out of treatment can feel overwhelming and lonely, so end a call or note with “I’ll be in touch again soon” and follow through. If the person is a child, the ACS page on supporting the parents says to offer the other children homework help, rides or activities, and a paediatric oncologist quoted there says: “The most important thing is not to pull back.” The visiting and vaccination lines above matter here too; ask the parents what the child’s team has said about visitors.

This part of the page is for a friend, relative or colleague. If you are the person with cancer, the charities named here have pages for you: the ACS helpline in the US is 1-800-227-2345, which its site says is open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week; in the UK, Macmillan’s page says “Call us free on 0808 808 0000”, 8am to 8pm, 7 days a week, and Cancer Research UK’s page lists freephone 0808 800 4040, 9 to 5 Monday to Friday. If you live with the person and help care for them every day, in the US Family Caregiver Alliance (1-800-445-8106) supports people who care for an adult family member, and in the UK Carers UK (0808 808 7777, Monday to Friday, 9am to 6pm) does. The ACS also says that “A cancer diagnosis does not make abusive or unsafe behavior acceptable,” and that it is okay to set limits if a friendship is hurting you. The page does not cover caring for someone at home day to day, someone who is dying, or what to say after a death.

Who these pages are not for. The grief page says no line in it is a rule for every grieving person: the people who had been bereaved disagree with each other about details, and what comforted one of them hurt another. If you barely knew the person, you don’t owe the dinners and the lawn: one person says friends are expected to offer more, and acquaintances a plain, kind condolence, and the page says that is enough. It does not cover particular cultural or religious mourning customs, supporting a colleague at work, helping the children of the person who died, or helping with money, and people there have nothing to say about your side of it if you are grieving the same person yourself, if you are worn out from supporting someone for months, or if your friend’s loss is not a death. The hospital page is about ordinary stays: it does not cover visiting a child in hospital, a patient who is unconscious, someone in isolation, or someone near the end of their life, and in intensive care or isolation the unit’s own rules decide who can visit and what can come in, so call ahead. Rules differ between hospitals, wards and countries, and the unit’s own staff are the final word on anything brought in. If they have told you they don’t want visitors, the page says that is the answer. And if your friend ever tells you they don’t want to be here, 988 in the US (call or text) and Samaritans on 116 123 in the UK and Ireland take calls from people who are worried about someone else.