We are deeply sorry for the loss of anything - from your luggage

Hear, O children of compassion and keepers of memory, the words of Oscar Munoz, who declared with solemnity: “We are deeply sorry for the loss of anything—from your luggage to, of course, a loved pet.” Though framed as the voice of a leader addressing travelers, these words hold a resonance beyond business or apology. They remind us that in the journey of life, all losses carry weight, whether they be small inconveniences or the shattering grief of losing what we love most.

The mention of luggage may seem trivial, yet it is not without meaning. For when we travel, our belongings become a fragile lifeline—clothes, gifts, tokens, the fragments of our lives packed into a case. To lose them is to feel disoriented, stripped of stability in a foreign land. Yet alongside this, Munoz places the loss of a pet, a companion bound not by utility but by affection, loyalty, and trust. In this juxtaposition, he acknowledges the spectrum of sorrow, from the fleeting pain of inconvenience to the enduring ache of grief.

For a pet is no mere possession. It is a living being entwined with our days, sharing our meals, our silences, our joys, and our sorrows. To lose such a creature is to lose a part of oneself. By naming both luggage and pets in the same breath, Munoz speaks not to diminish the greater loss, but to highlight the responsibility borne by those who serve others in travel: that every loss matters, for every loss touches the human heart in a unique way.

Consider, O listener, the story of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, the aviator-poet who wrote The Little Prince. He knew the weight of both small and great losses. When he spoke of the prince grieving for his rose, he reminded the world that even the smallest being can command the greatest love. In his own flights, when he lost maps, tools, or companions, each loss bore a different kind of sorrow. So too are Munoz’s words an echo of this truth: whether it is a rose, a suitcase, or a cherished animal, each loss is sacred to the one who endures it.

The meaning of this quote is profound: the measure of compassion is not in ranking sorrow, but in recognizing it. The great and the small, the minor and the immense—all deserve acknowledgment. A leader, a friend, or a fellow traveler must show that they see the pain of another, whether it is fleeting frustration or deep grief. For to dismiss the small is to risk dismissing the great, and to ignore the suffering of others, however minor it seems, is to harden the heart against mercy.

The lesson, O child of tomorrow, is this: cultivate compassion for all losses, yours and others’. Do not tell one in grief that their sorrow is small. Do not tell one frustrated that their anger is trivial. For what is small to you may be great to them, and what is great to you may seem small to another. The wisdom lies not in comparison but in presence—in standing beside another in their loss, whatever form it takes.

Practical action follows: when others lose, speak with empathy. If a traveler laments lost luggage, help them without scorn. If a friend mourns a pet, stand beside them with reverence. And when you yourself suffer loss, allow yourself to feel it, whether it be light or heavy, knowing that every loss matters because it touches the heart. In this way, we weave a world where compassion flows freely, from small sorrows to great griefs.

Therefore, remember Munoz’s words: “We are deeply sorry for the loss of anything—from your luggage to…a loved pet.” This is not only an apology of an airline, but a teaching for humanity. Loss comes in many forms, yet all loss calls for kindness. Let your heart be wide enough to hold them all, and in doing so, you will walk gently through this world, carrying not only your own burdens but also easing the burdens of others.