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

Three 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. 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 account 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 in the same conversation 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 those conversations 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?” Six conversations 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 in the page’s conversations 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.

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 its conversations 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.