I'm sorry we failed you.
I'm sorry we thought "It was out of our hands and thisisallwecando."
I'm sorry we saw the writing on the wall and chose not to read it.
I'm sorry you were trapped.
I'm sorry in a land of abundance and help and intervention and freedom and hand-outs you were eating and living and breathing and starving and freezing as if in a third-world country.
I'm sorry your "father" was an obvious son-of-a-bitch, good-for-nothing, no-count, coward and lazy-ass who likely has taken better care of dogs than he did you.
I'm sorry there is no foster home that could take all 9 of you.
I'm sorry you had to know about your 16 week sibling buried in the back yard.
I'm sorry a complaint of "no prenatal care with 8 other children at home" isn't enough to get an investigation started.
I'm sorry that you likely had a mom who maybe cared...but she was probably trapped as well. I'm sorry she knew that there was probably help out there, but if she reached out for help, that she would be held liable and you all would have been taken anyhow- but that is not an excuse.
I'm sorry she'd rather see her children starve than have them taken away.
I'm sorry we can't fix it.
I'm sorry we can't undo it.
I'm sorry if you felt you weren't (or aren't) loved.
I hope you can break the chains and the cycle.
I hope there are hugs.
I hope there is love.
I hope there is hope.
I am sorry...and I hope.