How I Hate the Phrase, "I'm sorry..."

They teach us the phrase 'I'm sorry' when we were young. It could even be as early as when we were born, being pushed out by our mothers and slapped, pricked by nurses who apologize for causing us pain and discomfort that we won't remember. They drill the phrase into our heads on the playground when we get into fights over whose turn it is. It's our way out of punishment when we hit our siblings, even though we might not mean it. A phrase made to show empathy, to show that we are compassionate about someone's unfortunate situation. As if our compassion is to compensate them for something that we could not be at fault for.

I never knew how empty 'I'm sorry' could be until my sister died.

My sister was 2 years old when she died by drowning in the pool in our backyard. You don’t think that it could even happen until it does. That she walked through a room of adults. That she even unlocked and opened that back door without rousing suspicion. It must have felt like someone imagined that no one saw her jump into a pool with a person who couldn’t swim or hold breathe underwater. And yet it all happened just as fast as her lungs filled up with water.

Isn't that how I'm sorry starts?

Realizing in a split second a wrong has made, something you wish you could take back has come out but all too late.

Sitting in a low-lit room at 14, having to hear that they had done all that they could, she hadn't gotten out of the water soon enough. No ‘I'm sorry’ could save my heart from shattering. It didn't stop the shock that overtook my body or stop the feeling of my lungs being unable to function, to breathe for me. For my soul to feel an overwhelming sadness. 'I'm sorry' couldn't hold the weight of feelings that were crushing me on the inside, so unbearable it was that it couldn't stay in, it needed to come out! 'I'm sorry' couldn't come close to containing the grief-filled scream that escaped my lips or contain the energy spent on the table that was in one moment relieved of all the contains on top of it. ‘I'm sorry’ holds little restraint on grief, like a single piece of twine trying to hold down a raging bull.

When people came up to me and said it, the words only brought up reminders I had lost, that I am lost, and they held no light to a way out. It was like throwing a light raft 30 yards away from where I was struggling to tread water in a storm. It did nothing for me. Nothing to stop the pain, nothing to make me eat. Nothing to make my family whole again. It did nothing to stop the nasty comments made by strangers on the internet, that felt free to judge my mother's parenting and how anyone could not have noticed. I'm sorry was like a plastic band aid that couldn't hold on in water or rough play, and grief does not let up easy.

I'm sorry cuts memories where they last left off and moments you share are now just recordings.

Grief is that old VHS tape that replays the last memories and words, making you wonder if you said enough to let them know you loved them. When I hear loss, “I'm sorry” is far from my lips no matter the social norm. 'I'm sorry' has no place in my sentiments.

But I say words that I wished I had heard. So I say," I heard. I know. I'm here."

I hear you've lost something, and I hear your pain.

I know it hurts, though I can't see it, and I know it will not be easy.

I'm here, if you need me, I'm here for whatever you want.

I'm here to let you know you are not ane.