Skip to main content

Everyday Writing - The Sympathy Note

Writing the note of sympathy rates high on the scale of difficulty. We struggle for the right phrases and how much we should say. Even if the sympathy card purchased at the local Hallmark store has an excellent sentiment, you'll probably want to add a personal note. That's especially true if the deceased is a close friend or family member. I can tell you from experience that those heartfelt, short notes in a card mean the world. 

Here are a few tips to help you find the right words. First, trust your instincts about what to say. A short note about a happy memory--condensed to two or three sentences may be appropriate."I remember the wonderful homemade banana bread your Mom gave me after my surgery. Her kindness helped in my recovery." Something as short as "our love and prayers are with you in this difficult time," is also fitting. If you're really stuck, check out the link to Hallmark's page for additional help.

There are also some words to avoid in the note and perhaps they're more important to highlight. It's tacky to say, "At least he's not suffering now," or "She lived a long life," or "We've all gotta go sometime." Avoid these words at all cost. 

Kindness, courtesy, and sympathy are all part of this important note to the bereaved. A sympathy email is also tacky. A nice card with a personal message, mailed in a timely manner is the requirement for this occasion. Those cards are usually cherished and saved. An email is not. 

The sympathy note is not something we like to contemplate, but at some point, we must write. May your words be sweet and full of comfort to the one who has suffered loss.



Comments

Been browsing for some nice sympathy card messages or just any words to uplift and comfort people who are downhearted. I felt happy to have found this inspirational page of yours. These words are very nice. Thanks and keep sharing :)
This comment has been removed by the author.
Glad to have helped.

Popular posts from this blog

The Castile Knapper

It's always fun to have family members who have a bit of notoriety because of interesting pursuits. My husband's cousin, Ken Wallace is one of those.  Ken is an artist who works in stone as a flintknapper. Flintknapping is the ancient art of shaping tools and weapons from pieces of stone. Knapping was part of the survival skill set of Native Americans. Arrowheads, knives, hatchets, and more were shaped from raw pieces of flint or chert.  Ken knapping at the Wallace Reunion Ken became interested in this process back in 1985. One of his favorite pastimes was searching fields for arrowheads, both of which are pretty plentiful in Western New York. Freshly plowed ground in rural areas often yields many different types of arrowheads since the Iroquois were the original residents of what are now corn fields and cow pastures. Fascinated with how the Iroquois made their weapons and tools, Ken started to try and recreate them. He says a lot of trial and error were involved in the...

Victim of Circumstances?

 The article below has been getting a lot of hits lately, and I thought it may be time to repost it. A couple of weeks ago, I took the picture below. I thought it pretty much sums up our life journey. We never know what's around the corner for us.  Circumstances change in seconds some days. Whether the circumstances of life are good or bad, we're fond of blaming them for how we behave and think. Here are a few of the well-used excuses:  "I'm a victim of circumstances.""The situation is impossible." "The circumstances are beyond my control." "Under the circumstances"...fill in the blank. Funny how principles, self-control, and  positive thinking can go out the window when we're "under the circumstances."  And lest you think the author is above blaming circumstances, she is not. I've used most of the excuses above, whether spoken or unspoken.  An imprisoned and wrongly accused Jewish C...

Smores Anyone?

We lived in the same house for 25 years just outside of our small hometown of Castile. It was a good little neighborhood and was mostly quiet except for the traffic on Route 39. When the signs of spring arrived, it was also time to pile up tree branches, and clean out the garage or the shed of burnable miscellany. Each year there seemed to be a contest between my husband and the next door neighbor to assemble a burn pile of enormous proportions.  Day after day I watched their piles grow until tepee-shaped woodpiles were just right to be torched. There was an art to the arrangement so that it would be totally consumed in a short amount of time. It was sort of like a bonfire on steroids. Now the neighbor enjoyed the element of surprise on the neighborhood and waited for quiet Saturday afternoons to begin his incendiary activity. KABOOM! You would have thought we were under attack by enemy forces. Then there was a rush of wind and the crackling of the k...