It'll be okay

I hate it 

when people say

 it'll be okay,

 and that they understand.

 But they don't. 

They don't understand, 

because they aren't me. 

They don't see what it feels like,

 but they say it's okay. 

I'd say I don't do it too, 

but that'd be a lie. 

Recently, my friend's mother passed away. 

I'd have said, I understand. 

But I don't, 

I'll never fully understand, 

I'll try, but I can't. 

And I'm sorry for that.

 For saying I understand when I don't.

 When I never could.

 I'm sorry for saying that I don't like it when others say that. 

Because I say it too. 

I'm sorry.

We offer those words, I think,

because silence is harder.

Silence feels empty,

like we aren't doing enough.

So we fill the gap with sound,

with "It'll be okay,"

a quick fix for our own discomfort,

not for their pain.

I'm sorry for that.

But maybe, just maybe,

 the point isn't to understand.

Maybe that’s not what they need.

Not a mirror of their sorrow,

but an anchor in the storm.

A quiet hand on a shoulder.

A presence that says,

I can't feel what you feel,

but I'm not running away from it.

I'm here, 

while you feel it.

And that has to be enough.

That is enough.

More than empty apologies,

more than hollow claims of understanding.

Just presence.

Just being here.

I'll try that from now on.

I'm sorry for all the times I didn't.