Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word: What To Say When Things Are Not Good

I used to be the type of person who would say “sorry” for everything.  If you stepped on my foot, I would apologize.  There were times where I felt like I should apologize for breathing.  I’m well over that phase of my life, for better or for worse.  Having now been married for over a decade I have a better understanding how powerful the word “sorry” can be, and how some types of apologies can be more meaningful than others.  “I’m sorry that I screwed up,” for example, is quite different than, “I’m sorry that you’re angry (because you think I screwed up).”

Despite having discovered my backbone, in my line of work, “sorry” still seems to come out of my mouth a lot.  It’s something of an automatic reaction:  “Oh, I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”  “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all of that.”  “I heard your husband just died.  I’m so sorry.” I say it as a way to connect with someone’s pain and sorrow, to show that I care, and that I wish things were different.  While it is always sincerely said, it is not always well received.   I have heard “Why are you sorry?  You didn’t kill him, did you?” on occasion.   One of my favorite patients lectured me for a very long time about how the word “sorry” should be removed from the English language as, according to her, it is completely useless.  She had suffered a lot of losses and found the term to be meaningless, at least at the time.  I had to stop myself from saying “sorry” for having said “sorry” to her.

As she grew to trust me, and as she grew sicker, I would still occasionally say “sorry,” and she would tolerate it, and, eventually, appreciated it.    Still, though, that lecture forced me to be much more mindful about when I said “sorry.”  When you are a hospice employee and a patient dies, is “sorry” really the right word?  We were pretty much planning on their death–we aren’t exactly “sorry” about it, and we certainly aren’t trying to accept blame.  When I make my bereavement calls I now tend to say, “I heard your daughter passed away, and I wanted to offer our condolences.”   It seems a little stiff to me, but I’m going with it until I come up with something better.  All of this begs the question, however:  when something sad, or bad, or awful happens, what are you supposed to say?

I don’t think there’s one answer to that question.  I think that no matter what you say, or don’t say, your response should be one that conveys support in a way that is meaningful for the recipient.  And in trying to formulate that response, I think it’s really important to realize that in most of these situations, the problem cannot be fixed.  You cannot make a death, or a terminal diagnosis, okay.  You cannot make someone not feel sad during a loss.  The situation is sad, and they are sad (or angry, which is usually just another variation of sadness), and that is how it probably should be at that moment in time.  I think a lot of us see people suffering and we want to fix it somehow.  But in these types of situations, it just can’t be done.

David Kessler, who seems to be one of today’s death gurus, has published some very helpful, direct advice on what to say in sad situations on his website, Grief.com.  (He cracks me up a bit due to his Hollywood connection–he appears to be a deathbed presence to “the stars”– but I heard one of his presentations and it was very well done.  Plus, his eyes are stunning.)  I think his list is a good one, and I’m not sure I can add to it all that much.  You’ll notice that “I’m sorry” tops the list of the best things to say.  I like the second one, too–saying that you simply don’t know what to say, but that you care–can really go a long way.  A lot of times there really isn’t anything that you can say.  And, trying to come up with something to say–to make it better, to make sense of it–can offend, even with the best intentions.  “It was his time,” “She’s in a better place,”  “You’ll be okay,” can fall flat, depending on your relationship with them and where they are in their emotional journey.

In life, in general, and particularly in these types of situations, I believe honesty is a good way to go.  I often find myself saying “Oh, wow, that’s awful.” With younger crowds, I have given the following little speech: “There’s really no way around it:  the situation sucks.  It just does.  You will eventually get through it, but it still sucks.”  Because a lot of these deaths do suck.  And I think it’s just easier emotionally to acknowledge that and not try to pretend that there is anything okay about it.   Not having to pretend that things are okay allows people to let their feelings and emotions have free reign.  And it’s imperative that we remember that those feelings and emotions may not show themselves in the way we think that they should.  Everybody grieves in their own way.  As long as you’re not a danger to yourself or others, you’re doing it right.

The important thing to do, if you can, is to let them know that you will be there for them while their emotions are going haywire.  Sadly, all too often we avoid the situation, and those involved, because we don’t know what to do or say.  Perhaps we fear that we will make it worse.  Perhaps we don’t want to remind them of their loss.  Trust me, they haven’t forgotten.  You can be there for them to talk to, checking in on them now and then.  You can make them food or mow their lawn.  You can hug them.  You can cry with them.  You can remember the person who once was, and share stories about them.  I often mention to people that the death of someone they loved is a big loss.  You can’t usually go wrong to say that someone’s life was important and that they will be missed, and, just as importantly, not forgotten. And, of course, it’s always safe to just ask them: ask them what you can do, what they need, what they want to talk about. And, if you can, then just do that.

Of course, all of this is a little different if you’re grieving, too.  If it’s your spouse or child or parent or best friend you probably have other things on your mind than just figuring out how to console someone else.  And that can get pretty tricky when you’re surrounded by other people who are also grieving.  Some families seem to be able to come together to support each other in their grief, but I don’t think that happens as often as people feel it should.  You often hear about this when a child dies.  It seems like it is just too much to ask that the parents be each other’s primary source of comfort.  When you’re in the depths of grief it’s hard to try to hold somebody else up, too–it’s nice to have someone who isn’t drowning in the same sea that you are to help you swim to shore.  I always try to suggest to families that they keep the following in mind: they are all wading through their own sorrow, and each of them will express it in different ways.  So when tensions start to flare (and they often do), it sometimes helps to give each other a little leeway, and try not to judge each other–or yourself–too harshly.

So, those are a few of my thoughts on the topic.  I’m hoping that this post didn’t suck, but if it does, I will try to accept it.  And, if that is the case, let me say this:  I’m sorry.  😉

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