What to say to someone who has lost a child

Perhaps we are too afraid to say the wrong thing, and silence is better than awkwardness. Perhaps death is so common and impossible to compartmentalize, strategize, or find a way out of, that we choose to avoid it entirely, keeping us safe rather than on the side of the afflicted.

But now is the time to talk about it. November 21 is Children’s Grief Awareness Day. November is Childhood Grief Awareness Month. And next week will be Thanksgiving, when there will be empty chairs and missing people, and those left behind, idle with their own special sadness. Then come the holidays, a time of joy, gifts and children.

Children grieve for their parents, and too many parents grieve for their children, too. Each year in the United States, nearly 37,000 children die before reaching age 18. I spoke with Amy Kremer, whose 15-year-old son Jeremy committed suicide ten years ago in his Arlington home on the eve of his sophomore year of high school. I live in Arlington and remember seeing the headline, reading the story, feeling the shock, and then moving on with my day. There’s an element of “I’m so glad it’s not me” and “I just can’t imagine” – a small, hopeful gap. I had a small child at the time. I couldn’t go there.

But then I thought about my grandmother.

My Uncle Marshall died at age 13. It’s actually weird to call him my uncle because we’ve never met. He drowned at summer camp long before I was born. I never heard my grandmother mention his name, not even once. Now I wish I could ask her about him when she was alive. I was a teenager when she died; That day I was thinking only about myself and where to sit for lunch. Who was he? What was he like? But even then, at 16 or so, I also knew: that’s just not what you were asking. Not what you were talking about.

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

Today, Kremer is a certified grief educator and part of Compassionate Friendsa volunteer support group for bereaved parents and bereaved siblings. The Boston chapter (with branches all over the world) meets monthly and has supported her family for many years. Each chapter celebrates the holidays with a candle lighting ceremony; this year it is Sunday, December 8th at 7:00 pm. If you need support or know someone who does, visit www.tcfboston.org.

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

Losing a child is a completely unique grief. When talking to a person who has lost a child, do not overload him with stories about an older relative. Loss humbles you – I know; my mom died three years ago, but losing a child is a whole other universe of pain. All grief is valid and real; this particular brand also seems chronologically violent.

“Losing a child or grandchild is unnatural. We expect that they will outlive us, that we will see them grow up, have careers and have families of their own,” she says.

A parent is not only dealing with the loss of their child. They mourn decades of a future that will never come.

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

“You don’t ‘heal’ from it any more than you heal from losing a limb. You gradually learn to live with this loss. When I work with people, I don’t use the word “healing.” I say we learn to carry grief with us as we move through life,” Kremer says. “It’s like a giant hole in your life, in your being. But little by little other things grow around this hole. If there is a lot of good in your life, the hole is actually hidden. But the hole itself is not getting smaller. It’s still here, and you never know when you’ll step into that hole again.”

Now is not the time for advice. It’s natural to want to start looking for solutions; this is how our society works. Accepting and even welcoming discomfort is more difficult, but necessary.

“Don’t try to fix a person. It can’t be fixed. And this is a natural tendency: “You need to try this; you need to do this.” Just be with the person,” Kremer says. “I wanted people to call us, talk to us and hug us, literally and figuratively. Just listen.”

Find a close contact within yourself and perceive its signals. If you’re wondering how to support someone who has lost a child but don’t know what to do—and don’t want to burden the family—reach out to someone in their inner circle instead and ask what’s needed.

“Try to find whoever they’re closest to, whether it’s a sister or a neighbor or a best friend, and then they can kind of give you advice. They might say, ‘Honestly, they’re buried in food,’ and give you a clue about how that person is feeling,” Kremer says.

Don’t make a calculated exception. Instead of assuming that a grieving friend doesn’t want to attend the wedding or Thanksgiving dinner, offer an invitation asking to be excused.

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

Don’t stop checking. Usually, first there is a flurry of sympathy: food, messages, offers to go by car. Crisis-level assistance may stop, but text messages or “thinking of you” messages will make a difference for months—years—after that.

“People think grief lasts maybe four or five months, but after that we go back to normal and we need to get back to our lives. This goes on for years. In the world, losing a child in the first five years is considered a new grief,” Kremer says. (If you want to learn more about the grieving process in a society that just likes to move on, she recommends Megan Devine’s It’s Okay That You’re Not Okay.)

Never say these words. Kremer’s group maintains a running list of phrases that are unintentionally offensive. I’ll share them here: “I Know How You Feel.” (You don’t.) “He’s in a better place.” (Better than here on this planet? Go to prom? Graduate from high school? No.) “Time heals all wounds.” (It’s not.) “Let me know if you need anything.” (Just do something instead. Anything!) “Everything happens for a reason.” (There is no conceivable reason.)

And what surprised me: “Remember the good times.” It seems harmless, right?

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

Say the child’s name. It’s a serious matter: Kremer says people may tend to avoid mentioning the child, but it’s actually important to preserve their memory by asking their parents if you heard their favorite song, watched a movie they would have liked, or looked them up an old photo on your phone.

“You let them know that not only have you not forgotten them, but more importantly, you have not forgotten their child. So please keep checking back. Not for a few weeks. Not for a few months. But years,” says Kremer. “Some people are hesitant to call or say anything because they don’t want to remind us. Believe me: we haven’t forgotten.”

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