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Visit any drug or card store, and you’ll find an extensive selection of sympathy cards available for purchase. Usually somber in tone and sometimes featuring sunsets, delicate flowers, or black edging, these cards may offer brief or lengthy pre-printed messages or allow you more space to write your own personalized note. It’s typical to feel at a loss about how best to help when someone dies, but sending a sympathy card is a tangible way to offer support and also gives us the feeling that we’ve acted, even in this small way.
Condolence Cards Started as Funeral Cards
In the 19th century, a family would usually send a funeral card announcing the death of a loved one. These cards were part of highly ritualized grief and mourning practices and often including a prayer for the deceased. The cards generally had black edging and could range from minimalist to ornate. The memorial card for Prince Albert, husband of Queen Victoria, now part of the collection of the London Museum, is described as having “…a black background with cream coloured solid embossed decoration representing a memorial tomb. In the center of the memorial is an applied sepia colored photographic medallion portrait of Albert. In the panel below are printed the dates of Prince Albert's birth, marriage and death as well as a list of his many titles.” These cards were considered keepsakes, especially if they were in memory of someone famous or someone close to the recipient.
During the Civil War, soldiers carried small cards on their person bearing their name and photograph, to serve as identification if they died in battle. Both these cards and the more ornate funeral cards served not only to commemorate and identify the deceased, but also to drive home the reality of their passing.
Receiving a funeral card usually prompted a handwritten condolence letter. The writer typically would share memories of the deceased and offer comforting words to the family.
Abraham Lincoln wrote a famous sympathy letter to F***y McCullough, whose father – a close friend of his- died during the war in 1862:
Dear F***yIt is with deep grief that I learn of the death of your kind and brave Father, and, especially, that it is affecting your young heart beyond what is common in such cases. In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares. The older have learned to expect it. I am anxious to afford some alleviation of your present distress. Perfect relief is not possible, except with time. You cannot now realize that you will ever feel better. Isn't this so? And yet it is a mistake. You are sure to be happy again. To know this, which is certainly true, will make you somewhat less miserable now. I have enough experience to know what I say, and you need only believe it to feel better right away. The memory of your dear Father, instead of an agony, will yet be a sad, sweet feeling in your heart, of a purer and holier sort than you have known before…
(Note: this letter, although a heartfelt expression of support, does veer towards advice giving which we no longer recommend. It is likely that it was more well received, though, given that it came from the President of the United States.)
The Evolution of Funeral Cards
Personal sympathy letters gave way to pre-printed condolence cards towards the beginning of the 20th century. Designs and messages evolved, with more secular expressions expanding the options for expressing sympathy. The Hallmark Card Corporation began offering sympathy cards in the 1920s and today, sympathy cards are a huge business. According to Hallmark, condolence cards account for 6% of all greeting cards sent and the market for pet condolence cards is growing, as more regard pets as important parts of the family and pet loss grief is increasingly validated.
How to Write a Sympathy Card
While some sympathy cards already feature poems or thoughtful sentiments, requiring only a short note and signature, others offer more space for a personal message. You’re probably aware that platitudes like “they are in a better place now” or “G-d doesn’t give us more than we can handle” are typically NOT welcome when offering condolences. Alternatively, prioritize support and presence for the grieving individual, rather than trying to resolve their grief or explain away a death that, in all likelihood in the fresh days of loss, feels unexplainable. A 2024 study by researchers Kimberly Calderwood and Amy Alberton identified the following guidance for creating personal messages of support, based on surveys with the bereaved:

Advice is not helpful (“Things will feel easier soon.”). Instead, express concern and care, such as “I’m thinking of you during this time and will reach out in the coming days.”
Avoid saying “let me know if you need anything” or “I’m here for you if you need anything,” as this puts the responsibility on the griever to act.
Instead of employing language oriented toward 'healing,' such as “I know this is hard, but you’ll get through this,” focus on messages that emphasize continuing connection, like “the beautiful memories you shared will remain with you always” or “the love you shared endures.”
Avoid comparing your experience to theirs. “I know how you feel. I felt the same when I lost my mother.” This shifts attention away from the griever.
For grievers with strong faith, explicitly faith-based messages may offer comfort (“G-d is guiding your loved one on his journey”). Use this approach thoughtfully—be certain of the bereaved’s relationship to faith before including religious references.

Another meaningful exercise is to share a specific memory of your bond with the deceased. For example, “I’ll never forget when he showed up at my house at midnight to help me bail out my basement,” or generally, “She was always there to support me with words of kindness.” These memories bring home that the deceased had an impact on the world and will not be forgotten.
Writing a condolence card can be meaningful not only to the recipients but also to you as the writer. If you were close to the deceased, supporting their loved ones and reconnecting with your bond can feel impactful for you. Writing a heartfelt condolence card also helps you feel you’ve done something to make a difference when you might otherwise feel helpless. It can feel like a small step but can carry great meaning for the bereaved as well as for you.

What Is a Condolence Card and How Do You Write One? Visit any drug or card store, and you’ll find an extensive selection of sympathy cards available for purchase. Usually somber in tone and sometimes featuring sunsets, delicate flowers, or black edging, these cards may offer brief or lengthy pre-printed messages or allow you more space to write you...

The grief journey after Medical Assistance in Dying (you may see it referred to as MAID), is often quiet, complicated and misunderstood. To begin the conversation about grief after medical assistance in dying we must first understand the process and lay to rest misconceptions.
Medical assistance in dying is a legally regulated process in Canada allowing a person who meets criteria to choose to die with the help of a medical physician. The person opting for medical assistance in dying must have the mental capacity to make this decision for themselves and consent may be withdrawn at any time. In addition, there are strict policies in place so medical practitioners understand medical assistance in dying is not to be offered in lieu of medical treatment for the purpose of reliving the burden on the health care system. It is intended to relieve suffering for individuals with incurable illness that will eventually result in death to relieve unbearable suffering. Medical assistance in dying does not increase the number of people who die but does provide dignity to those who choose this path for themselves. It can restore a sense of empowerment to individuals who have lost so much - control, autonomy, comfort, and the ability to shape their final chapter in a way that aligns with their values. It is important to recognize that this is not the right path for everyone. Many people, guided by their personal values, cultural traditions, or religious beliefs, feel deeply opposed to medical assistance in dying. To fully embrace the practice, their perspectives deserve respect too. Grief, choice, and end‑of‑life decisions are profoundly personal, and no single approach can – or should – speak for all.
As a certified celebrant, any personal feelings I have must be set aside to meet people where they are. I have had the deep honor to walk with people in planning end-of-life celebrations for loved ones who have died using medical assistance in dying. Simultaneously I have held space for loved ones who are opposed to their loved one’s decision. I have walked with families who are divided but coming together, united by their grief. No one journey is alike but being a celebrant experience has led me to the conclusion each death is a story of courage and empowerment, reclaiming all that illness has taken.
Some families choose to keep the decision to use medical assistance in dying private, often out of fear of judgment, misunderstanding, or backlash. As a celebrant, I honour that choice. There are services where I stand before a congregation holding the deeper truth of the deceased’s final days, carrying it quietly and respectfully at the family’s request. I speak of their journey with illness, their resilience, their courage, and the love that shaped their final chapter. The details of their decision remain protected, held in confidence, and I am honored this trust has been placed in me.
There are those who choose to share their story with openness and pride. Their families describe a passing filled with peace – a final chapter shaped by their own hands. They select the music that will cradle them, the light that will soften the room, the day and when their suffering ends and control is returned to the individual. When invited to speak of their journey, I honour their courage aloud. I encourage people to celebrate the strength it takes to choose one’s ending, to reclaim authorship of a story that illness tried to take away. I have permission to share a story of a mother who chose medical assistance in dying, choosing a date when her adult children could be present. In the moment of her passing, the three of them stood at her bedside, their hands layered over her heart as she took her final breath. This story is not to romanticise the medical assistance in dying process but rather to demonstrate how peaceful it can be.
Some individuals who use medical assistance in dying fully embrace their decision and choose to celebrate it. They create a day for those who wish to visit, to say goodbye. It becomes a kind of living funeral – an opportunity for people to share the words we often wait to speak in a eulogy. Too often, we wait until someone has died to express how deeply they mattered. A living funeral allows the person to hear the impact they’ve had on the lives around them. Not everyone will be comfortable with participating in the process but is a priceless gift for individuals to know how deeply loved they are; after all, they will not be here to hear their eulogy.
Grief related to medical assistance in dying is complex; it is often grief that hides in the shadows, longing to be seen.
There is the anticipatory grief that begins long before the chosen date arrives – the grief we feel as we watch our loved one decline, as we walk beside them through the medical assistance in dying process, and as we wait for the day they have chosen to die with assistance. It is a grief that stretches across time, a grief requires us to remain courageous and present as we prepare to let go.
Disenfranchised grief is grief that is not fully recognized or supported by society. People may judge or misunderstand the choice for using medical assistance in dying. We know that some people have strong religious or cultural beliefs that lead them to views of grief being a sin or an immoral choice. These people may find supporting medical assistance in dying difficult or an impossible option while remaining true to their own values.
Losing someone we love is a journey we never want to navigate. There is never a day we are ready to say goodbye, and we will always want just one more day, one more conversation, one last hug. It may be helpful to remind ourselves that while medical assistance in dying may have hastened their death, it did not cause the death. When a loved one chooses medical assistance in dying and invites us to walk that path with them, they are entrusting us with their legacy. They ask us to hold their story of courage, to honour their choice, and to share their truth only when we feel ready. It is a responsibility shaped by love, and a privilege that stays with us long after they are gone.

Holding Their Legacy: Navigating Grief After Medical Assistance in Dying The grief journey after Medical Assistance in Dying (you may see it referred to as MAID), is often quiet, complicated and misunderstood. To begin the conversation about grief after medical assistance in dying we must first understand the process and lay to rest misconceptions. Medical assistance in....

For many of us in death care, there is a distinct moment when our role begins at the threshold between life and death. As a funeral director, I was trained to step in after that threshold into death had been crossed to care for the body, guide the family through logistics, and to create a meaningful service. But additional training as an end-of-life doula shifted my perspective and allowed me to carve new paths within my profession. It invited me into the space before that threshold, into the time before death, where the focus is on presence, comfort, and supporting the dying person and their loved ones in real time. And in doing so, it has profoundly changed the way I show up in my work as a funeral director.
At first glance, these two roles may seem distinct. Funeral directing is structured, regulated, and rooted in legal and logistical responsibility. End-of-life doula work is fluid, deeply personal, and centered on emotional, spiritual and holistic support. In practice, however, they are not separate, but rather complementary. Together, they create a continuum of care that honors both the experience of dying and the reality of death.
What I have learned as a doula has made me a more present, intentional and compassionate funeral director. It has reshaped not only what I do, but how I do it. While funeral directors are sometimes introduced to families before a death occurs, particularly in imminent cases, my doula training has deepened how I show up in those moments. It has shifted my focus from simply guiding decisions to truly being present with families as they navigate what is ahead.
Now when I meet families prior to death, I approach those conversations differently. As a doula, I am invited into discussions about fears, wishes, legacy and meaning. I witness life review, unfinished business and the ways people hope to be remembered. By the time I step fully into the role of funeral director, I am no longer just arranging a service. I am helping to carry forward a story I have already come to know, and that continuity allows for deeper personalization and care.
End-of-life doula work is rooted in presence. It’s about listening without agenda, holding space without trying to fix anything, and allowing silence to create space for reflection, emotion and meaning. In a sense, it’s when you take your shoes off and simply walk alongside those about to experience and be affected by death. That kind of listening has transformed my approach to arrangements. I often offer to meet families outside of the arrangement room, and more often than not, they choose their own homes. To them, these spaces can feel like sanctuaries of safety at a time when so much feels out of their control.
Instead of focusing solely on gathering information such as dates, times and selections, I’ll listen for what is underneath. I listen for the way a daughter describes her mother’s laugh. I listen for hesitation when a family says, “We just want something simple.” I pay attention for the unspoken needs: the desire for participation, the fear of seeing the body, the longing for one more moment. And because of this, I ask different questions:

“What would feel most meaningful for you right now?”
“Is there anything you wish you had more time to say or do?”
“Would you like an opportunity to be involved in caring for your loved one?”
“Are there any moments or rituals that feel important for you to have? Such as x, y or z…?”

These aren’t traditional arrangement questions, but they create space for offering deeper, more meaningful experiences that are often profoundly healing, and ones we can have the privilege to help facilitate. One of the most impactful lessons I’ve learned from end-of-life doula work is the importance of offering “a chance to care.”
In many modern death experiences, families are separated from the physical realities of death. Care is handed over to professionals, and while that care is essential, it can sometimes leave families feeling disconnected without even realizing why. As a doula, I have seen the power of inviting families back into that space. And as a funeral director, I now look for opportunities to offer that invitation.
In the funeral profession, this may look like allowing families to assist in bathing or dressing their loved one, giving them time to sit, touch, and be present without rushing, or inviting them to participate in simple rituals such as covering the body or placing personal items with the decedent. These moments are not about adding tasks but are instead about restoring agency and connection. They transform the experience from something that is happening to a family into something they are gently participating in. And there is so much power in that.
One of the most profound truths I’ve learned as an end-of-life doula, which has been supported by my experiences as a funeral director, is that death is palpable.
The presence of the physical body matters in ways that are often difficult to articulate. While funeral service often emphasizes memorialization through services, tribute items and celebrations of life, doula work has reminded me not to overlook the significance of the body itself. The opportunity to see, touch and be with the body can be deeply grounding. It helps make death real in a way that words cannot. It provides a space for goodbye that is tangible and complete.
This perspective has shaped how I approach viewings, identifications and final moments. I prioritize supporting families in having a viewing whenever possible, regardless of their chosen disposition. I slow the process to allow for true presence, sometimes creating space for families to spend extended time across several days with their loved one, especially in pediatric cases. I prepare the body in ways that invite closeness and comfort, such as using personal clothing or familiar care products, so they still smell familiar. And when appropriate, I gently encourage connection through subtle cues, such as modeling touch, to help families feel comfortable being close to their loved one in this unfamiliar situational experience.
There can be perceived tension between the roles of funeral director and end-of-life doula, often stemming from differences in philosophy, scope or approach. But I have found that when communication is clear and mutual respect is present, these roles can work together beautifully.
In my own professional work, I don’t see them as separate identities, but as two perspectives I carry with me at all times. The funeral director in me ensures that everything is handled with professionalism, care and adherence to necessary regulations. The end-of-life doula in me ensures that everything is also approached with presence, compassion and deep respect for the human experience. Together, they allow me to serve families more fully. I am reminded that death is not just an event to be managed, it is an experience to be witnessed and guided through. It is a transition that deserves time, intention and care at every stage. Being invited into someone’s life at the end is a profound responsibility. Being trusted with their care after death is equally sacred.
To be able to do both, to walk alongside families in death and then gently guide them forward, is a privilege that has reshaped my understanding of this work entirely. In bridging that space, I have found not only a deeper connection to the families I serve, but a more profound sense of purpose in the work itself.

A Continuum of Care: Expanding the Role of the Funeral Director Through a Doula-Informed Approach For many of us in death care, there is a distinct moment when our role begins at the threshold between life and death. As a funeral director, I was trained to step in after that threshold into death had been crossed to care for the body, guide the family through logistics, and to create a meaningful...