I’m Sorry

Before Rick died, I didn’t care for the standard, “I’m Sorry” that I heard myself and others mutter to those in grief. It felt so inadequate… I struggled to find something else to say that was meaningful and impactful, but there seemed to be nothing. I hated seeing my friends or those I loved dearly struggling through a terrible loss. Tragically, I was one of those who didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. I hate that I had to experience a profound loss to finally get it. That has been my issue with  our grief culture since losing Rick. Frankly, we suck at it. We suck at supporting. We suck at simply sitting with them in it. We suck at not projecting our own ideals of grief onto them. Our understanding and compassion for them sucks because it’s short living. We suck at mirroring the things we say to provide comfort. Things like, “there is no timeline for grief.” And yet in the same breath offer suggestions on how a griever may get out of the perceived pits of grief that they are stuck in.

I’ve come to view the words, “I’m sorry…” differently now, especially from those who know grief all too well. I used to struggle with saying, “I’m sorry,” but now when I say it or people say it to me, it speaks volumes because I finally know exactly what is meant by those two simple words.

It means that I am sorry that you have lost a person you loved and cherished. I’m sorry that your entire World crumbled all around you and you had to stand there in stunned silence with tears running down your face. I’m sorry the World goes on without your person when it has completely stopped for you. I’m sorry time will never simply mean a time of day, instead it becomes a marker for when your life abruptly turned black without any warning whatsoever. I’m sorry you wondered how you would make it through the first night, the first week, the first month, the first holidays and birthdays. I’m sorry you had to relive that day that marked a year since your World stopped and still feels that way. I’m sorry night after night you laid there wide awake, sometimes with silent tears streaming down your face and other times screaming into the pillow until you feel exhausted enough to close your eyes. And yet sleep still eludes you. It will take a while, but I promise that movie reel will play less and less as time goes on.

 I’m sorry you can’t see anything other than your loved one’s face when you said your final goodbye. I’m sorry that is the only face your mind allows you to see unless you look at pictures of them smiling eyes twinkling with love and happiness. Keep pictures nearby always. On your phone, next to your bed, scattered around your house, so when those painful images pop up, you can quickly replace them with happy ones.

I’m sorry you can’t eat or drink. I’m sorry nausea follows you everywhere you go, the bile rising up into your throat unexpectedly as you run for the bathroom to vomit the nothing in your empty belly. I’m sorry the images of that moment invade your thoughts constantly and you are powerless to make them stop. I’m sorry you considered self-harm because the excruciating mental and physical pain was too much to bear day in and day out. I’m glad you are still here.

 I’m sorry you were so emotionally exhausted to the point of not caring. That you can’t even find the strength to shower, get dressed, or even brush your teeth. I’m sorry that the thought of those simple tasks feels overwhelming and so difficult you withdraw further into yourself. Do not feel guilty. You do the best you can, no judgement. Celebrate those small victories, eventually they will lead to the big ones!

I’m sorry you have days you can’t breathe because it feels as though shards of your broken heart  stab you with every deep breath, so instead your breath comes in gasps. I’m sorry your heart beats wildly at times when those adrenaline rushes flood your body making you tremble, feel more nausea, and those restless feelings consume you as your Fight or Flight is triggered for no apparent reason. I’m sorry there is no shortcutting grief or that it takes its sweet time while you flounder around miserable. I’m sorry  there are moments when you are sure that you will die of a broken heart and it’s okay that somedays you wish you would. I see you and your pain; and yes, it is THAT bad. I am so sorry. It does get better; I promise you that.

I’m sorry that these feelings and sensations can be so foreign to you and unsettling that it causes you to question if you are normal or worse yet question your sanity. I’m sorry the agony can be so intense you feel as though you are going insane while at the same time wondering how you could endure this for months, even years to come. I would encourage you to take one day at a time, looking at the big picture becomes overwhelming and is too daunting. Try to choose a time of day that will make you feel accomplished that you made it through another day without your loved one. And remember even if it doesn’t feel like it, you ARE doing this.

I’m sorry that so much of your daily life has changed. From your sweet daily rituals and doing the things you used to love with them, suddenly the familiarity no longer provides comfort and safety, but a glaring reminder your loved one is gone. It’s as if it’s screaming, “They are dead! They are never coming back, so better get used to it.” I’m sorry that it was more painful to continue with those rituals than to just stop doing them. There will come a time when you start new rituals of your own or even go back to those old ones and it won’t feel like your heart is getting ripped out of your chest repeatedly. I’m sorry cooking brings you sadness as you make a meal minus one. I’m sorry that you cry into the food you are making because you remember this one time, y’all had a food fight, and the kitchen was covered in cheese sauce and broccoli. I promise someday those same memories that made your heart ache will someday make you laugh again. The sadness will be there, but quieter.

I’m sorry the foods you ate, the shows you watched, your sleeping patterns all changed with their departure. I’m sorry when you try to hold onto those things you enjoyed together it brings up anguish and sorrow, so you skip it hoping to make it easier on your already broken heart. I’m sorry you will have times when you think about them and absently grab the phone, and suddenly you remember. I’m sorry you went from being the center of someone’s universe, to nothing. I’m sorry you miss the call or text checking on you every single day. I’m sorry you miss being cherished. I’m sorry you lack the self-confidence you once proudly possessed. I’m sorry that you have to learn to fix things on your own or call someone to do it for you. I’m sorry that your spark for life and all the things that made your soul joyful are extinguished. Give it time, hopefully some of them will come back to you. It’s possible that they won’t, but when you are ready, you will find new ones.

I’m sorry your friendships changed. I’m sorry you lost a lot of friends simply because they misunderstood your grief. Some faded away because they were your “couple” friends, and it feels like you are a third wheel now. Some friends can’t handle your pain because it reminds them that someday they will be you and that is terrifying. Some friends miss the old you who was spontaneous, funny, and always up for a fun time; this new one upsets them and brings them down, so they avoid you. And some friends make it about them and lack the emotional intelligence it takes to see that you are strictly  surviving day by day; that you’re not reaching out has nothing to do with not caring or not wanting to be friends, but you are incapable of giving anything more than you already are. You don’t answer the phone, not because you aren’t happy, they called, but because you have been sobbing all day, you are exhausted, your eyes are swollen shut, and your nose hurts from constant wiping: you simply don’t have the energy to answer. So, you don’t. Most days you cry all day, so when they call several days in a row, you  still don’t answer. They give up. They’re upset, hurt that you don’t want to talk. When in reality you simply cannot. There will be new friends who will come into your life that will sit with you in your brokenness, unafraid. These are often people who know your pain all too well and will see you through to the end. Those are treasures you will keep for a lifetime.

I’m sorry you feel alone and isolated. I’m sorry you struggle with depression. I’m sorry you feel weak because you can’t fight against grief other than to feel it. I’m sorry you feel powerless when “grief attacks.” I’m sorry you are feeling every miserable piece of it; it is lonely and isolating. I’m sorry that even in a crowded room full of those that love you, you at times feel completely and utterly alone. Grief is different for everyone, but something that remains consistent is that it is a journey you must embark on alone. I’m sorry there will be times when you feel as if you are screaming, standing on the edge of a cliff hoping someone, anyone will hear your cries, but they don’t. I’m sorry you feel loneliness and hopelessness. I’m sorry you feel alone. I’m sorry you despise this new life that was thrusted on you without warning. I’m sorry I can’t tell you how long you will remain in the pits of sorrow. I’m sorry I can’t tell you how long you will walk around numb, in survival mode.

I’m sorry you are fearful and anxious. I’m sorry you feel afraid to answer the phone or watch TV because you can’t manage any more sad news. I’m sorry the joy has been sucked out of your life and all the beautiful colors that once made up your life have turned to gray scale. I’m sorry all of the things that brought you joy, don’t anymore. I’m sorry you can’t remember much these days; that you are late all of the time, miss appointments because you forgot them; or when you woke up that morning, you forgot for a split second that they were gone; then you remembered, it knocked the wind out of you and for the rest of the day you were wrecked. I’m sorry you feel the need to back out on plans at the last minute because you simply have no energy. I’m sorry you can’t remember to pay your bills. I’m sorry that you had to go back to work too soon and along with the grief, you are barely holding it together. I’m sorry I don’t know how long you will live like this.

However, I will tell you in light of all of these things I am sorry for, that I know the following to be true. You can and will get through grief and onto the other side. The grief will always be there, but it becomes manageable, and you will learn to carry it with you. It won’t always feel suffocating. You won’t always cry. The anger and bitterness will fade. Those certain dates won’t cut you like a knife. You won’t always fall into the pits of despair and take months to climb out. You will fall, you won’t “do” grief  “right” way. There will be days you want to quit, but you won’t.

You will fall down, fall silent, and for a while you may fade away as you heal. The point is you will get back up, every single time. You won’t give up, that’s not how you are hardwired, so you try. Every single day you will try your best. Eventually, you will look back on that horrific time in your life when the simple act of breathing hurt; and you will smile because you are finally having more good days than bad; you smile more than cry. For a fleeting moment you will feel a flutter of joy in your heart. Then you know. It’s real. YOU did it. Even though it wasn’t beautiful or perfect you made it to the other side! And that IS beautiful. My friend you are a warrior. Someday, another person who lost a loved one will cling to you for support, and you will know just what to say. It may even begin with those seemingly inadequate words, “I’m sorry.” Turns out they say a lot.

I’m proud of you. Thank you for still being here.