Have you ever sat with someone who is grieving and felt completely unsure what to say? You want to help, but the right words seem impossible to find. What do you do when there is no fix, no solution, no easy path to follow? Grief is one of those moments that reminds me how powerless I can feel in the face of someone else’s pain.
The first thing I want to say is this. Sometimes the most important thing I can do is just be there. I do not need to have all the answers. I do not need to solve the problem. I do not need to cheer them up or offer advice. I just sit with them. I let them feel what they feel. I listen with my whole self.
I think a lot about the work of Michael Bungay Stanier and his teaching about staying curious a little bit longer. He talks about how, when we allow pauses and thoughtful questions to live in the middle of a conversation, we create space for deeper understanding to emerge. That is exactly what happens in grief. It is not about being silent in a shallow way. It is not about waiting to speak. It is about listening, truly listening, and asking questions that help someone express what is beneath the surface. Sometimes what someone needs most is not a solution, but my full attention.
One story that has stuck with me comes from something I wrote about the long spoons. I like to tell it this way. In one version of paradise, people had everything they could possibly want. They had food, beauty, abundance. But they could not feed themselves because the spoons were too long to reach their own mouths. They were surrounded by nourishment and yet starving. In the next room, people used those same long spoons to feed the person across from them. They thrived. They flourished. They lived in abundance not because they took care of themselves alone, but because they took care of each other. That story reminds me that grief is not a solo experience. Even when the internal work feels deeply personal, the act of holding space for someone else’s pain is a communal act of care and connection.
When someone is grieving, I know people often recoil. They worry they will say the wrong thing, make it worse, or intrude on something sacred. I see that happen all the time. So they say nothing. But silence, in those moments, often feels like absence rather than support. That is why I try to open the space. I might say something gentle like, I have been thinking about you. How are you today? Or, I am here if you want to talk about what has been on your mind. These openings communicate that I am willing to be present, and that alone can be comforting.
Once I have opened that space, the next step is to actually listen deeply. Not just to hear, but to pay attention to the words, the tone, the pauses, and even the things left unsaid. Reflective listening tells the person I am truly present with them, that their experience is seen and acknowledged. Something as simple as saying, It sounds like this has been really heavy for you validates their experience in a way that advice never could.
I focus on asking questions instead of offering solutions. I might ask, Would it help to talk about a memory you love? Or, Is there a small way I can support you today? Rather than assuming, I invite them to express their needs. This is exactly what Michael Bungay Stanier teaches in his coaching work. People often already know what they need, but they have not been given the room and attention to voice it. By staying curious a little bit longer, I give them that space, and that is an invaluable gift.
Once I have listened and asked thoughtful questions, I offer support that aligns with what the grieving person actually needs and wants. This does not mean doing everything for them. It means helping them carry the weight of their grief without taking it from them. It could be something as simple as sitting together in quiet, helping with meals, dropping off a cup of coffee, or checking in regularly. The key is that my support is shaped by the needs they have articulated, not by what I think would be helpful.
Supporting someone through grief also teaches me lessons I can bring into my coaching work. When I practice presence, deep listening, asking questions instead of giving advice, and offering support without controlling the narrative, I train myself in empathy, patience, and humility. I learn to resist the urge to fix everything. And I learn to value the person’s journey more than my own need to have the right answer. These are the same skills that make someone a thoughtful coach or leader, and they are amplified when applied in the context of grief.
Grief is not a problem to solve. It is a process to witness. When I approach it with curiosity, compassion, and presence, I create space for healing that no advice could ever provide. The gift I give someone in grief is not a solution. It is my attention. It is my willingness to walk beside them without judgment or hurry. And more often than not, that presence becomes the most comforting support they could receive.
I also pay attention to the small, consistent acts of presence. Supporting someone is not just about big gestures or deep conversations. Grief does not have a defined timeline. It can ebb and flow for months or years, and people around the grieving person often move on long before the feelings do. Checking in, offering a meal when it feels uncomfortable, sending a message to say I am thinking of them, or asking a thoughtful question weeks or months later can matter more than I realize. These small acts add up. They communicate that the person I care about is not alone, and that their grief is still valid and seen.
When I think about how this applies more broadly, whether in coaching, leadership, or everyday relationships, I see a common thread. Staying curious longer, listening deeply, and offering support without control helps build trust. It helps deepen connection. And it helps others feel genuinely valued in a way that advice cannot replicate.
Grief reminds me that I cannot control everything. I cannot fix everything. But I can be present. I can listen. I can ask questions that help others find their own path forward. And I can offer support that respects their experience and honors their humanity. When I do that, I do more than help someone through a moment of loss. I demonstrate the transformative power of presence, the generosity of curiosity, and the profound impact of walking beside another human being when they need it most.
Thank you for listening to episode 244 of Restorative Grief. We all fall into the advice trap… no one is immune! So, if you take anything from this, just remember: be here, really listen, and don’t feel like you have to fix everything. Ask the questions that matter, give people the space to figure things out, and stay curious a little longer—that’s where real connection happens. And honestly, doing this not only helps the people you care about, it makes you a better coach, friend, and human along the way.
If this is your first time listening to Restorative Grief with Mandy Capehart, I’m just so grateful you found your way here. Thank you to the patrons of the show, who support the Restorative Grief community by keeping these episodes alive. Check out the show notes if you’re interested in learning more about becoming a Patron of the work for as little as $2/month. Be sure to subscribe and of course, leave a review, too. And as always, before we go, one last thing. Please remember, the only solution for grief is to do the work of grieving. Thank you for listening. I’ll see you next week.
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