Recently, grief specialists have begun questioning the role of artificial intelligence in supporting those experiencing loss. As someone who has spent years developing trauma-informed content for organisations like Cancer Research UK and the Metropolitan Police Service, I find myself deeply invested in this conversation.

Moreover, since my dad died a year ago I have seen my mother’s struggle with grief after seventy years together. She really enjoys deep conversations with other recent widows at her weekly coffee morning. But then she goes home again to an empty home. Could AI help her process the unimaginable private grief? 

The original concern came from a grief counsellor who noticed a growing trend: grieving people turning to AI chatbots and digital companions during their darkest moments.

The counsellor acknowledged potential benefits, including availability during late-night hours when human support isn’t accessible, reduced barriers to initial help-seeking, and consistent information delivery. Yet they worried about confusing algorithmic responses with genuine human witnessing, emphasising that grief requires not management but presence.

This tension between leveraging technology’s accessibility and preserving essential human connection lies at the heart of my professional experience. Having spent years designing digital content for people in crisis, I’ve developed a nuanced perspective on where AI might help and where it risks causing harm.

When algorithms meet human suffering

The appeal of AI-powered grief support is undeniable. Grief doesn’t operate on a 9-to-5 schedule. The most acute moments of pain often arrive at 3 a.m., when helplines are closed and friends are unavailable. An AI companion that’s always ready to respond might provide genuine comfort during these isolating hours.

When I designed the national drink spiking advice service for Police.UK (used by 81% of police forces in England and Wales), we had to confront this exact reality. People experiencing trauma need support at unpredictable times. Technology can bridge gaps that human service provision simply cannot fill.

AI tools also lower the threshold for seeking help. Many people find it incredibly difficult to admit they need support, particularly for grief. The perceived anonymity and judgment-free nature of AI might become the first step someone takes toward acknowledging their pain. This “foot in the door” effect shouldn’t be underestimated.

As I wrote in my article on Trauma-informed content and AI, there’s substantial value in making support accessible when the alternative might be no support at all.

The irreplaceable human element

However, my experience creating trauma-informed content has shown me the profound limitations of algorithmic approaches to human suffering.

The most significant concern is the false promise of empathy. AI can simulate caring responses but cannot provide authentic empathy.

When I worked on content for Cancer Research UK, we discovered through extensive user research that people could instinctively detect when language felt manufactured rather than genuine. There’s a visceral, almost primal response to authentic human understanding that no algorithm – however sophisticated – can replicate.

This becomes especially problematic with grief, which by its nature defies the pattern-recognition that drives AI systems. AI tends to present information with confident authority, even when that information is wrong. For someone navigating the already disorienting landscape of grief, misleading guidance could compound their suffering.

Most crucially, AI cannot witness. In my trauma-informed content work, I’ve seen repeatedly that what people most need in crisis isn’t solutions or even information but the profound feeling of being truly seen in their suffering.

When I developed content for domestic abuse survivors, this principle became inescapably clear. The healing process begins not with perfect information but with genuine witnessing: another human who can hold space for pain without trying to fix, minimise or escape it.

The privacy paradox

Perhaps most concerning is the data privacy dimension. People in acute grief are not in a position to make informed decisions about data sharing. The exploitation potential here is enormous: intimate expressions of loss could potentially be used to train commercial systems without meaningful consent.

In Building trust in AI government services, I explored how AI systems must be designed with heightened ethical considerations when deployed for vulnerable populations. This principle applies doubly for grief support, where users are experiencing diminished decision-making capacity due to their emotional state.

Navigating the middle path

Rather than viewing AI grief support as inherently helpful or harmful, I suggest a more nuanced approach:

1. Develop clear ethical frameworks specifically for grief-focused AI. These should prioritize transparency about AI limitations, meaningful human oversight, and robust privacy protections.
2. Design AI tools as explicit bridges to human connection, not replacements. The technology should be honest about its limitations and actively guide users toward human support when appropriate.
3. Focus AI development on augmenting human grief specialists. Tools that help professionals manage administrative tasks could free them to focus more fully on the deeply human work of witnessing grief.
4. Involve both grief experts and people with lived experience in AI development. Technology created without this expertise will inevitably miss crucial nuances of the grieving experience.
5. Establish clear boundaries around data collection from grieving people. The vulnerability of grief creates a power imbalance that demands exceptional ethical care.

Finding the balance

The grief counsellor’s original concerns concluded with wise advice: use AI tools if they help, but don’t stop there. Real healing comes from connection, from being heard by another human being who can witness your pain without needing to fix it.

This resonates deeply with everything I’ve learned creating trauma-informed digital services. Technology can do many remarkable things, but it cannot witness. It cannot hold the sacred space that forms when one human sits with another in their darkest moments.

This doesn’t mean AI has no place in grief support. But it does mean we should be extraordinarily careful about how and when we deploy it, always remembering that the ultimate goal isn’t more efficient grief “management” but deeper human connection.

In grief, as in all human suffering, technology should serve humanity – not the other way around.