Many people understand the difficulty of approaching someone who has suffered a loss. It’s an awkward situation and not a single word you say will lessen the impact of that loss. Still, you try to be sincere and offer a shoulder for that person to lean on should they need to.

In the beginning stages of suffering a loss, there are many people who offer their condolences and prayers. It’s genuine and heartfelt, but with the overwhelming number of cards, phone calls and messages…most of them don’t even resonate.

When I lost my dad, I can tell you who reached out based on the cards and messages I saved, not because I remember those conversations in real-time. It might sound harsh and discourteous, but if you’re the person offering those words, do not take it personally. When you suffer a loss that impactful, you simply focus on getting through the day.

At the same time, not everything is a complete blur. There are always the people that offer the most ridiculous “words of comfort”. Not only do you remember what they said, you wonder if they actually spoke those words to you. In that situation, you smile politely and leave the conversation in the past. You’ll find it comical as you progress through the stages of mourning; simply shaking your head and hoping (praying) they didn’t mean what they said.

As time moves forward and you learn how to deal with the loss you’ve suffered, you also deal with a few different types of people: those who constantly check-in, those who check-in when it’s convenient, and those who are there in the beginning but go on with their lives, failing to blink in your direction.

When you suffer a loss, you continue to be asked the same questions and you’ll never really know how to answer them. Does the person genuinely care about your response? Are they just asking because they know they should? Do they not know what to say? Regardless of the situation, here are four questions you need to stop asking people who have lost someone they love:

1. How are you?

It’s the go to question for the people who are constantly checking-in and the people who check-in occasionally. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been asked this question. I also can’t count the number of times I’ve replied, “I’m OK.”

How do you expect someone to feel after suffering a loss so great? We’re not going to say “terrible,” and we’re definitely not going to say “good.” We know you’re trying to show that you care, but please…stop asking.

Instead, ask a family member or friend of the person if you’re wondering. I’ve been asked countless times how my mom and my sisters are doing, and that hits home. If someone reaches out to me just to check-in on them, my response is completely transparent.

2. How can I help?

This is another question that is thrown around too often when loss is present. It’s a generous thought and one of the first phrases that comes to mind when you encounter someone suffering from a loss. We’ve found that there are a select few who ask this and act upon it. The people who really want to help are those who offer help when it’s not asked for, and the people who stop over just to say hello. They don’t ask how they can help, they just do it. And that is the help we need the most.

3. What’s wrong?

While this question isn’t asked very often in the beginning stages, it’s one that constantly comes up in months, even years following. Yes, we might have had a bad day at work or we got into an argument with a friend. But many times, what’s wrong is simply the loss itself. We’re not sad because anything specific happened, we’re sad because of something or someone that’s missing. So, when we’re asked, “what’s wrong,” it’s hard to come up with an explanation that will resonate with the other person. If someone you know has suffered a loss and is having an off-day, let them have an off-day. Don’t ask them what’s wrong, just let it be wrong.

4. Have you moved on?

Following my dad’s death, I was given a book that talked about each stage in the mourning process. While it’s different for everyone, the book talked about general signs and feelings you might expect to see in those different stages. We’ve all heard the cliché saying, “time heals.” But time does not heal, and it does not make suffering that loss any easier. What time does do is make living with that loss more normal. You don’t “move on” from losing someone you love; you learn how to live a normal life without that person.

We know it’s uncomfortable trying to have a normal conversation with someone who has lost a loved one. It’s difficult to know what to say, and because you don’t know what to say, you resort to the usual questions. We know you mean well, but we’re sick of being asked the same questions you already know the answer to.

No, we’re not OK.
Yes, we need help.
What’s wrong is that we are missing someone.
No, we will never “move on.”

To those who continuously check-in and offer help even when it’s not asked for: thank you. Thank you for sending a quick message or a lengthy email. Thank you for calling just to talk. Thank you for showing up when we’re least expecting it.

To those who we used to know better, please stop making excuses. We don’t want to hear why you haven’t called in a while or why you haven’t stopped over. You have a job to do, a family to take care of and other friends to keep up with, and we accept that. Most importantly, please stop shaming us for changing. We don’t expect you to fully understand, but we do expect you to be patient. The loss we have suffered is significant and every day we try to make strides in the right direction. A few months back, I came across a piece from a book and I wanted to share the words I’ve been trying to find:

“But as time stretched and I got older I realized, how in the end, it’s all the same. People, like wounds, need their own space to heal and we do so alone and at our own pace.”

Everyone has their own wounds. Everyone finds their own type of healing. Rather than asking the questions so many people do…instead, offer help when it's not asked for and give us the time we need – not to move on, but to find our new normal.