Grief keeps its own calendar

One of the kindest things you can understand about grief is that it does not run to a timetable. It does not politely finish after the funeral, or after a year, or by the first anniversary. It arrives in waves, like weather coming in off the sea — sometimes a gentle swell, sometimes something that knocks the breath out of someone on an ordinary Tuesday in the supermarket.

This matters practically, because most support arrives in the first fortnight and then quietly disappears. That is exactly when many people need company most. Set a reminder in your phone for three weeks after the funeral, then three months, then six. A simple message — "I'm still thinking about you. Fancy a coffee?" — can carry more weight than anything said in the first difficult days.

Say something, even if it isn't perfect

Fear of saying the wrong thing keeps many of us silent, and silence is often read as abandonment. You do not need the right words. You need honest ones.

Try: "I'm so sorry. I've been thinking about you." Or "I don't know what to say, but I'm here." Or simply use the name of the person who died — "I've been thinking about David today." Hearing that name spoken aloud is often a relief, because so many people start avoiding it.

Words that tend to land badly, however kindly meant:

• "At least she had a good innings."
• "Everything happens for a reason."
• "I know exactly how you feel."
• "You should be grateful you had so many years together."
• "Let me know if you need anything." (Almost nobody in acute grief can work out what they need, let alone ask.)

Offer specific, practical help

Grief consumes enormous mental energy. Deciding what to have for tea can feel impossible, so vague offers rarely help. Offer something concrete, with a day and a time attached, and be ready to hear a no.

• "I'm doing an online shop on Thursday — can I add anything for you?"
• "Can I collect the children from school on Monday and Wednesday next week?"
• "I've made a lasagne. It's in the freezer; it just needs reheating."
• "I'll come and cut the grass on Saturday morning."
• "Shall I drive you to the appointment?"
• "Would it help if I sat with you while you write the thank-you cards?"
• "I'm walking the dog at nine — I'll pick you up on the way."

Do ask before tidying, sorting or moving anything belonging to the person who died, however well-intentioned. That decision belongs to them, and sometimes to no one at all for a long while.

Listen more than you talk

Listening is the real work, and it is surprisingly tiring. Let silences sit. Resist the urge to fill them or to solve anything. Reflect back what you hear — "that sounds exhausting" — and ask gentle, open questions such as "what has today been like?" Expect the same story to be told several times; that repetition is part of how a person makes sense of what has happened.

Ask about the person who died, too. Memories are precious, and many bereaved people find that everyone else has quietly stopped mentioning them. If you cry, that is not a failure. It simply shows you cared.

Walk together

Conversation often flows more easily shoulder to shoulder than face to face, which is one reason a walk is such good medicine. Being outdoors brings daylight, gentle movement and fresh air — all of which support sleep and mood — and the rhythm of footsteps gives permission for comfortable silence.

Keep the invitation small and low-pressure: "Twenty minutes round the park? No need to talk." A bench in a garden, a wander along a canal path or a potter round the allotment all count. Nature also offers a language for grief that does not feel forced: tides that retreat and return, winter that gives way to spring, everything in its own season. For someone who feels stuck, that can be quietly reassuring.

Remember the dates nobody else remembers

Birthdays, anniversaries of the death, wedding anniversaries, Christmas, Mother's Day, Father's Day and the "firsts" without them are all tender. Diarise them for next year while you think of it, and send a short message: "Thinking of you and of Sarah today."

The run-up to a date is often harder than the day itself, so a check-in a week beforehand can be a genuine kindness. And remember your own capacity, too — supporting someone through grief is a long game. Share the load with others, be honest about your limits, and if someone's sadness deepens or they speak of hopelessness, gently encourage them towards their GP, a bereavement charity or a counsellor. Kindness does not require perfect words. It mostly requires turning up, again and again, in small and ordinary ways.