Maybe we’re too afraid to say the wrong thing, and silence beats awkwardness. Perhaps death is so pervasive and impossible to compartmentalize, strategize, or resolve that we prefer to avoid it altogether, keeping safely to the side of the vault instead of the afflicted.

But now is a good time to talk about it. November 21st is Children’s Pain Awareness Day. November is Children’s Pain Awareness Month. And next week is Thanksgiving, when there will be empty seats and missing people, plus those who remain, at the end of their own particular sadness. Then there are the holidays, a time centered on joy, presents – and children.

Children grieve for their parents, and too many parents grieve for their children. Each year in the United States, nearly 37,000 children die before their 18th birthday. I spoke with Amy Kremer, whose 15-year-old son, Jeremy, killed himself a decade ago at his home in Arlington, near his sophomore year of high school. I live in Arlington and I remember seeing the headline, reading the story, feeling shocked and then going about my day. There’s an element of ‘I’m so glad it’s not me’ and ‘I just can’t imagine’ – a reassuring little chasm. I had a small child at the time. I couldn’t go there.

But then I thought of my grandmother.

My uncle Marshall died when I was 13. Actually, it feels weird to call him my uncle, because we’ve never met. He drowned at summer camp long before I was born. I didn’t hear Grandma say his name, not even once. Now, I wish I had asked her about him when he was alive. I was a teenager when he died; I was only thinking about myself and where to sit for lunch that day. Who was he? what was he like But even then, at 16 or so, I knew too: it just wasn’t something you asked. Not something you talked about.

Now, as an adult with my own teenager going to summer camp, I realize that I wasn’t going to remind him that he never came home wanting to know more about himself.

Today, Kremer is a certified pain educator and part of the Compassionate friendsa volunteer-run support group for bereaved parents and bereaved siblings. The Boston chapter (there are locations worldwide) meets monthly and has supported the family for years. Each chapter marks the holidays with a candle lighting ceremony; this year it’s Sunday 8th December at 7pm. If you need support or know someone who does, visit www.tcfboston.org.

Here’s what she wants people to know and say, when language seems insufficient, but humanity is essential.

Losing a child is a very unique pain. When talking to someone who has lost a child, don’t wrongfully mourn them with stories about an older relative. Losing flattens you – I know; my mother died three years ago, but losing a child is another universe of pain. All pain is valid and real; this particular brand also seems crude chronologically.

“Losing a child or a grandchild is outside the natural order of things. We expect them to outlive us, to see them grow into adulthood and have careers and families of their own,” she says.

A parent doesn’t just absorb the loss of their child. They cry for decades about a future that will never unfold.

Healing is not an option. There is no recovery; adjustment only.

“You don’t ‘heal’ from it any more than you would from the loss of a limb. You are slowly learning to live with this loss. When I work with people, I don’t use the word cure. I say we learn to carry the pain with us as we go forward in life,” says Kremer. “It’s like a huge hole in your life, in your being. But little by little, other things grow around that hole. If you have a lot of good things in your life, the hole is actually hidden. But the hole itself does not get smaller. It’s always there, and you never know when you’re going to step into that hole again.”

Now is not the time for advice. It’s natural to want to jump in with solutions; this is how our society works. Accepting and even welcoming discomfort is harder, but necessary.

“Don’t try to fix the person. This cannot be repaired. And this is the natural tendency: “You have to try this; you have to do this. Just be with the person,” says Kremer. “We wanted people to call us, talk to us and hug us, literally and figuratively. Just listen.”

Find a close contact inside and take cues from them. If you’re wondering how to support someone who’s lost a child, but aren’t sure what to do—and don’t want to burden the family—reach out to someone in their inner circle and ask what’s needed.

“Try to find who is closest to them, whether it’s a sister, a neighbor or a best friend, and then they can advise you. They can say, ‘To be honest, they’re buried in food,’ and they can give you clues about what this person is like,” says Kremer.

Don’t do careful exclusion. Instead of assuming a grieving friend doesn’t want to attend a wedding or Thanksgiving dinner, offer a clear invitation.

“Say, ‘I totally understand if you don’t feel able to attend. I’m not sure I could attend if I were you. But we just want to let you know how important you are to us and we totally understand whatever you decide,’” she says.

Don’t stop checking in. There’s usually an initial flurry of sympathy: food, texts, carpool offers. Maybe crisis-level help will wane, but “looking at you” messages or check-ins matter months—years—afterwards.

“People think the pain lasts maybe four or five months, but after that, it’s back to normal and we have to go back to our lives. It lasts for years. In the world of losing a child, the first five years are considered a new pain,” says Kremer. (If you want to learn more about the process of grieving in a society that likes to keep moving forward, she recommends Megan Devine’s It’s OK to Not Be OK.)

Never say these words. Kremer’s group keeps a running list of unintentionally hurtful phrases. I will share them here: I know how you feel. (You don’t.) “He’s in a better place.” (Better than right here on this planet? Going to prom? High school graduation? Nope.) “Time heals all wounds.” (He doesn’t.) “Let me know if you need anything.” (Just do something instead. Anything!) “Everything happens for a reason.” (There is no imaginable reason.)

And one that surprised me: “Remember the good times.” Seems pretty harmless, right?

“I think with other losses, there comes a time when those memories are really helpful and we remember them with a smile. It takes a long time to get there with a child. They say that you will eventually get to the point where thinking about your child brings more happiness than pain or makes you smile before it makes you cry. That may be true. It hasn’t happened to me yet, and I’m in my tenth year,” says Kremer.

Say the child’s name. This is a big one: Kremer says people might be inclined to avoid mentioning the child, but it’s actually important to keep their memory alive by checking in with their parents if you hear their favorite song, see a movie they would be loved or find an old photo of them on your phone.

“You’re letting them know that not only have you not forgotten them, but more importantly, you haven’t forgotten their child. So please keep checking back. Not for weeks. Not for months. But for years,” says Kremer. “Some people hesitate to call or say anything because they don’t want to remember us. Trust me: I haven’t forgotten.”

Kara Baskin can be reached at [email protected]. Follow a @kcbaskin.