Be not the bringer of pietism and treacle, the tired tropes of those uncomfortable with the left behind.

God never gives you more than you can handle.
          (You mean if I was weaker, my sister would still be here? Thanks for that.)

She’s in a better place.
       (Really? I think a better place would be alive here with me.)

He’s in heaven now.
       (Sure, that’s great. So much better in heaven than alive, and besides I don’t believe in heaven or hell.)

She’s not suffering any more.
       (True, maybe, but still what if she were alive and not suffering, wouldn’t that be better than dead?)

I’m sure it’s a relief to know he’s in a better place.
       (No, not really. No. Is it better for him to be dead than here, breathing, telling bad jokes, singing bawdy songs, and letting me hold his hand?)

How old was he? Wow, he had a long life, it’s ok he died, don’t you think?
       (No, I don’t think. I don’t care how old my father was, I wasn’t ready to lose him. He was my father.)

I’m here for you. Call me if you need me.
       (Oh yeah, cause when I’m balled up on the floor sobbing, that will be the first thing I think of, calling someone who doesn’t care enough to check on me. How about you do something useful, like bring me groceries, walk my dog, sit with me while I remember her?)  

Say instead,

I love you.

I am sorry.

I’m here to listen.