There is a pattern under nearly all of these. The phrases that hurt are the ones that ask the grieving person to do something for you — to be comforted, to agree, to move on, to reassure you that you said the right thing. They can feel the request, even when it is wrapped in kindness, and answering it is exhausting.
“At least…” — at least she lived a long life, at least he didn’t suffer, at least you had those last months. Everything after those two words is an argument that this is not as bad as they think. It might even be objectively true. It is still an argument, made to someone who is not having a debate. There is no version of “at least” that helps.
“Everything happens for a reason.” This asks a person whose world just broke to agree that the breaking was purposeful. If they believe that, they will get there on their own schedule. If they don’t, you have just told them their loss was scheduled.
“They’re in a better place.” Usually offered sincerely, usually heard as a request to stop being sad. Even for someone who fully believes it, the better place is not here, and here is where the missing happens.
“I know exactly how you feel.” You don’t, and the moment you start describing your own loss the conversation quietly becomes about you. Shared experience can be a real comfort, but it works in the other direction — “I lost my mom four years ago, so I have some idea, but tell me about yours.”
“Be strong.” / “You’re so strong.” Meant as praise, received as an instruction. A person told they are handling it well will often stop letting anyone see them not handle it. Being strong is not the assignment. There is no assignment.
“Time heals.” It doesn’t, quite, and the person hearing it is standing at the very beginning of that time with no way to skip ahead. What is actually true is stranger and more bearable: it does not shrink, but your life slowly grows back around it.
“Let me know if you need anything.” The kindest-sounding and the emptiest. It hands a task to someone who cannot pick up a phone. Replace it with a specific, already-decided act: I am walking your dog on Saturday. I am bringing dinner Tuesday. I am handling the thank-you cards.
“How are you doing?” — not wrong, exactly, but it forces a performance, and the honest answer is unsayable in a hallway. “How is today?” is smaller and more answerable. So is simply: “I’ve been thinking about you.”
One thing that is almost never wrong: saying their person’s name, saying you are sorry, and staying there for a moment afterwards without filling the silence. Nearly everything that goes wrong goes wrong in the rush to fill it.