I was in acute grief, the depths of which I couldn’t have previously imagined. In the summer of 2019, we had been T-boned by a drunk and high driver going 90 miles an hour in a 50-mile-an-hour zone. My wife, Gail, and I had survived the crash, but our two teenage children in the back seat, Ruby and Hart, had not.

Gail and I received an incredible outpouring of love and support from friends and family who were willing to do just about anything to help us. They organized a meal train and checked in on us often. But they all struggled, in one way or another, with how to talk to us.