Condolences. And empathy. My ex was the intake social worker for a somewhat reknowned home for the aged in San Francisco. Many in our circle of aquaintances were in their nineties and, among those, many -- and their adult children -- had dealt with my ex for years, preparing for their eventual residency there. Periodically, she'd come in from work and say something like, "We won't be having anymore dinners with Al." (Or Sonja, or Ilsa, or Robert, and so on.) That, and the expression her face, were all I needed to know to understand not to be too demanding of her time for the next few days. She always took their passing hard and spent the first day or two afterwards painting. My place during the time was to be around but to leave her alone until she felt like talking. For me, it always added new dimensions of meaning to the phrase, "here today, gone tomorrow." Caused me to be a little more appreciative of things.

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Speak less. Say more.