The Mourning After: The 20 Best Episodes About Grieving

Losing a beloved character is hard — for the audience and the fictional family members and friends the deceased left behind. Ahead, EW picks the 20 best episodes of television following the death of a key character from shows like Kingdom all the way to Sesame Street.

The episode following Nate’s (Nick Jonas) shocking death was not only Kingdom’s series finale, but it will be remembered as the show’s strongest (and most raw) hour. With powerhouse performances from the entire cast — though most notably Frank Grillo and Jonathan Tucker — the Navy Street family attempted to move on in an hour that incorporated flashbacks to Nate’s death throughout the episode to ensure that fans, too, experienced the loss. —Samantha Highfill

Although the show did a three-year time jump after Michael died, it still found a way to honor his character in the next episode, both with a flashback to Jane grieving and with Jane continuing to struggle years later. From Jane writing a book about her love story with Michael to the moment she pulled up her final voicemail from him, this hour was very much about Jane’s new life and the role Michael still played in it. —Samantha Highfill

After a fraught second season led to a shortened third (a miniscule 6 episodes!), Aaron Sorkin and Co. had a lot of emotion to pack into a small space. Cut to the show killing off our favorite bowtie-loving ACN News director, Charlie Skinner, with a mid-fight heart attack in episode 5. In episode 6, Charlie gets an appropriately devastating funeral, interspersed with flashbacks showing how he orchestrated News Night by convincing MacKenzie McHale to take the executive producer job. There’s a super-cheesy yet still poignant scene where dad-to-be Will plays in an impromptu garage band with Charlie’s bereft grandsons, and Jim and Gary jump in to join. It might have been a little predictable, but sometimes you just want to let a series wrap up with a neat little bow on top — and despite killing Charlie, Newsroom gave us that. —Isabella Biedenharn

The aftermath of Will Gardner's shocking death leaves everyone in a state of disbelief; the next hour follows all of its main characters as they learn the news. For Alicia, the episode is spent listening to one final voicemail from Will and trying to figure out what he was going to tell her just moments before his death. For Kalinda, it's about getting an answer to "why" this all happened. And for Diane, it's about figuring out what life (and the firm) looks like without her partner. From David Lee's tearful reaction to Alicia's return to the courtroom where Will died, it's a poignant hour that demonstrates just how much Will meant to these people. —Samantha Highfill

The ripple effect of Lady Sybil’s tragic death is felt throughout Downton; even notoriously cold-hearted servant Thomas feels the loss. Following her funeral, the family remains in their mourning clothes as each member faces the death in his or her own way. Sybil’s husband, Branson, deals with his daughter’s christening as he believes she should be baptized Catholic (which goes against the rest of her family's beliefs), while Cora still partially blames Robert for their daughter’s death. In the last few moments of the episode, Dr. Clarkson approaches Cora and Robert, and tells them there was really nothing they could do to save Sybil, helping them find closure. —Megan Daley

This was not the first time that Jeremy Gilbert had died, but it was the first time that it looked like he was going to stay dead. When Elena and company return home from their cure-seeking adventure, she can't fathom that her brother is gone for good (especially because he was wearing the Gilbert ring when his neck was snapped). Instead of accepting Jeremy's fate, she has Stefan put his dead body in his room, where she waits for him to wake up. But in a heartbreaking moment toward the end of the episode, she realizes what she's done. Nina Dobrev gives a more-than-memorable performance as Elena breaks down, until finally, she flips her humanity switch and burns her entire house to the ground... with her deceased younger brother inside. —Samantha Highfill

This episode, which pays tribute to the late Cory Monteith, is hands-down one of the most emotional episodes on TV in recent history. From the song choices — "Seasons of Love," "I'll Stand By You," "If I Die Young" — to the tearful heart-to-hearts between characters, the sentiments are raw, letting both characters and cast honestly show their grief. At one point, Finn's girlfriend, Rachel Berry (played by Monteith's real-life girlfriend, Lea Michele) performs a moving rendition of "Make You Feel My Love" as tears stream down her face; in the last few moments of the episode, she tells Mr. Schue that Finn was her "person." The tears from everyone on-screen are heartbreakingly real, something that adds a tragic power to the hour. —Megan Daley

Mad Men seasons rarely finish with a bang — showrunner Matt Weiner typically reserves the most crucial plot action for penultimate episodes. The SCDP crew spends season 5 closer "The Phantom" contemplating the seismic changes the agency went through an episode earlier, including the demise of the man who put the P in their company's name. After his suicide, Lane Pryce's legacy haunts the office for the rest of the series; this installment and its almost-too-apt title kick off that malaise. It's all embodied in Don's nagging toothache, but a larger reckoning looms: Pete's marriage is on the rocks; Peggy's not sure about her new job at Cutler, Gleason, and Chaough; Don's at a crossroads with how he sees Megan's acting career. The episode closes with Nancy Sinatra's "You Only Live Twice," as Roger Sterling stands naked tripping on acid. If "The Phantom" has a moral, it's that new beginnings sometimes just repurpose old habits — meaning that Lane Pryce's death might not spell as much change for these characters as one might think. —Eric Renner Brown

The North will always remember Ned's beheading in "Baelor" — and after his shocking death, each of the remaining Starks finds a different way to cope. Robb is vengeful, while Catelyn is fearful. Sansa is held captive in King's Landing (and forced to look at her father's head on a spike by a gleeful Joffrey), while Arya has little time to grieve; she has to focus on escaping. The youngest Stark children left behind in Winterfell, Bran and Rickon, visit the estate's crypts after dreaming of Ned's death. And that's just in Westeros. Across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys is also mourning. She has to deal with the death of her unborn son Rhaego and sacrifice the catatonic Khal Drogo. But she does eventually emerge from the ashes reborn as a mother of three dragons. After all, it's all men who must die — not women. —Shirley Li

What happens when someone you have a complicated relationship with dies? That's what this standout episode of FNL explores as a devastated, confused Matt Saracan (Zach Gilford in a stirring, phenomenal performance) copes with the sudden death of his slightly estranged father. At some points, he's angry, like when he drunkenly recites what an honest eulogy for the man would sound like; at others, he's vulnerable and hurt, a teenage boy wrestling with how to say goodbye to someone who, in some ways, already said goodbye to him years before. —Ariana Bacle

Dealing with the death of an actual cast member can be tricky for a show. Such was the case for The West Wing when John Spencer, who played Leo McGarry, passed away. The series addressed the actor's death several episodes before Leo would die on the show (via a direct address from star Martin Sheen), since Spencer had already filmed a few episodes that had yet to air. Eventually, though, the series caught up with reality. "Election Day Part II" is a touching episode that reflects the cast's real emotions about Spencer's passing through their characters. The show continued to honor Leo and Spencer beyond that double episode with "Requiem," a tribute to both the character and actor's legacy. —Jonathon Dornbush

The castaways of Oceanic Flight 815 established the mantra "live together, die alone," and the episode following Boone's death certainly captured that. Boone perishes without his mentor (Locke) or his stepsister (Shannon), his closest connections on the Island, by his side. Sure, Lost saw characters croak left and right as the series went on — but Boone's death, which came after he fell from a Beechcraft plane he and Locke discovered near the Hatch, delivered a dramatic blow that set off the long-lasting tension between Jack and Locke. After Boone is gone, Jack realizes that Locke has been keeping the Hatch a secret, and lied about Boone's accident. The hour also sees Shannon come to terms with her guilt, Sayid put the castaways' needs ahead of his own, and a subdued funeral scene that caps off an intense and memorable hour. —Shirley Li

Caleb Nichol's death led to what is arguably one of the best hours of The O.C. First, Caleb is beautifully honored with a funeral, complete with a moving speech from Sandy — "Rest in peace, Caleb. And if you can't do that, I'm sure heaven could use a few more McMansions." That funeral serves as the tipping point for Kirsten's alcoholism, which gives us one of the show's most powerful scenes (and unforgettable performances from Kelly Rowan) when the family performs an intervention and Kirsten agrees to go to rehab. And let's not forget about the shocking cliffhanger at the end of the season finale: Ryan finds out the truth about Trey attacking Marissa and confronts his brother. The whole thing ends with Marissa shooting Trey in the back to save the man she loves. Nobody did drama quite like The O.C. —Samantha Highfill

The Fisher family knows death — they run a funeral home, after all — but that doesn’t prepare them for when Nate suddenly dies after suffering from a brain hemorrhage. David especially struggles: He’s still dealing with the trauma of being kidnapped in an earlier episode, and that lingering anxiety combined with his fresh grief nearly crushes him. His despair culminates during the burial, where his constantly crumbling face perfectly portrays the depth of his sadness. Seeing how a family that works in death also deals with death paints the Fishers in a new light, one that humanizes an already incredibly human family. No one’s immune from death, and they’re no exception. —Ariana Bacle

The ABC family sitcom lost its patriarch, John Ritter, just as filming for the second season of the series had begun. These somber episodes chronicle his on-screen wife and children as they learn to cope with his death, from the initial earth-shattering phone call to his funeral and the days that follow. The family goes through the various stages of grief, making it clear there's no perfect way to deal with the death of a parent. Eloquent, honest, and heartfelt, the two-part episode is beautifully executed. —Megan Daley

"The Body” is not only one of Buffy's best episodes, but one of the most powerful episodes of TV, period. Showrunner Joss Whedon takes a unique approach to the death of Buffy's mother Joyce. Rather than skewing melodramatic, he strips the episode down to its rawest moments. There's no soundtrack — sound and visuals come only through the camera's relationship to Buffy as Joyce's death warps her focus. Whedon lingers on the reactions of grief, how it can make us act irrationally, lash out, quiet down, or feel lost. Every moment emphasizes how death, in the end, can pull us apart as much as it can bring us together, and that even in the life of a vampire-fighting heroine, the biggest struggles can be the most human ones. —Jonathon Dornbush

By now, anyone even remotely familiar with a remote control can recite the beats of any given Law & Order (or SVU, or Criminal Intent, or…): "These are their stories;" body discovery; law; order. This hour, though, stepped away from that procedural formula altogether, choosing instead to examine how its characters cope after a rapist they've helped to convict is executed. Curtis avoids his guilt by falling into a fling; Kincaid has an existential crisis; McCoy turns uncharacteristically introspective; Briscoe, a recovering alcoholic, falls off the wagon in a particularly devastating scene. The episode is a somber meditation on grief that ends with a typically Dick Wolfian twist: While driving a sodden Briscoe home, Kincaid's car is suddenly struck by a drunk driver, killing the idealistic ADA. How's that for a gut-punch? —Hillary Busis

When someone dies, there’s a certain expectation that everyone will suddenly bond together. Broken relationships will mend themselves; longstanding tension will disappear. But that’s not usually what happens — and thirtysomething makes that clear in the episode after Gary dies. The bereft all gather in one house, but there’s a clear, uncomfortable divide between Susannah, his widow, and everyone else. This, along with individual flashbacks of Gary, set the episode apart by making it not just an hour of wallowing, but also an hour of people figuring out how to navigate complicated relationships while wallowing. —Ariana Bacle

Archie’s crew tiptoes around him after Edith dies, but he’s not having it: He’s trying his best to pretend like he’s fine, and even has a strict no-“blubbering” policy. (“It don’t do no good. It don’t change nothing,” he explains.) By the end of the two-part season opener, though, Archie sheds his gruff exterior once he finds one of Edith’s slippers under the bed. “You had no right to leave me that way, without giving me just one more chance to say ‘I love you,’” he says aloud before crying into her slipper. The moment is devastating by itself, but even more so after watching Archie attempt to hide his grief for two hours straight. Deaths often give characters a chance to show a new side of themselves, and Archie’s transition from grumpy widower to mourner proves that there’s more to him than his no-nonsense attitude. —Ariana Bacle

When Will Lee, the actor who played Mr. Hooper on Sesame Street, died, the show used his death as an opportunity to expose kids to death, honestly but gently. Big Bird doesn’t quite understand the permanence of it, so he keeps looking for his beloved Mr. Hooper. His human friends explain that people who die don’t come back, and the scene lingers on his ensuing reactions — his disbelief, his denial, and, finally, his sadness. The show is intended for a pint-sized audience, but the scene is a blunt but sympathetic lesson in death and grief that can benefit viewers of any age. —Ariana Bacle