The lady priest tells the support group that “Grief is love that has become lost.” But Sara doesn’t want to hear it.

Her last conversation with her husband, Daniel, was him telling her — by phone — that “This isn’t working” and that he’s taking a few weeks off with a friend. She slept on the sofa, he slept in their bed.

And that’s where she found him, dead the next morning.

She has a five year-old, Eliot, whom she didn’t know how to give the news. She has an overbearing mother-in-law that she threw her phone at (“Two stitches.”), which is why she’s in this support group. Mother-in-law Helen is a psychologist, minoring in manipulation.

Sara had a hasty funeral to plan, telling the priest about her life with her husband, and it doesn’t sound like he was any piece of cake to live with. And she told that same priest that she has no family, that her parents are dead.

Sara’s Dad isn’t dead. Her estranged sister Linda, is the one who checks in on him at the nursing home.

Oh, and Sara’s eight months pregnant. Throwing a phone was all she could manage.

“Thank You, I’m Sorry” is a downcast and dark Swedish comedy about grief, the victims our parents sometimes turn us into, the lies we grew up with replaced by lies we live with, and healing. It’s amusing, touching and downright therapeutic, parked as it is on Netflix right in the middle of The Holidays.

Sara (Sanna Sundqvist, terrific) is a scabbed-over wound of a woman, in shock and not helped at all by her over-helpful mother-in-law Helen (Ia Langhammer, never lapsing into caricature), whose shock manifests itself by insisting on recording their meeting with the coroner. Helen’s practically accusing Sara of having something to do with her boy’s death.

But she doesn’t. That’s the theme here, the running gag and the meaning of the title, “Thank You, I’m Sorry.” Everybody’s too polite to be direct. Unpleasantness is brushed over, covered with a lie or what have you.

Sara’s emotionally shut-down. Older sister Linda (Charlotta Björck, subtle and earthy), the one left checking on their disabled, alcoholic, cheating father, has her own “politeness” issues. She can’t shake her controlling, clingy and mooching live-in lover Jasse (Pershang Rad, quite funny).

“We’re on a break” means nothing to him. He simply won’t be chased out of their flat and her life. Every problem of hers somehow wrongs him. And everything we need to know about him is in how he takes the news that Linda’s brother-in-law died and left her sister with a child and a baby on the way.

“It’s just that you haven’t asked me how I’M doing!”

The sisters reconnect, reluctantly. They reveal the secrets of their distant past and the unfamiliarity of the recent events of their lives. They clash and run afoul of Helen, each in her own way. Linda has a big dog, but no clue how to deal with a five-year-old boy. Sara has unresolved rage about their childhood, their estrangement, her manipulative mother-in-law and the husband who died just as he was about to ditch her with two kids.

Director Lisa Aschan (“Call Mom!”) and screenwriter Marie Østerbye (“Almost Perfect”) find a lot of sweet spots amidst the melancholy laughs. Five-year-old Eliot (Amaël Blomgren Alcaide) meets Linda’s dog “Zlatan” and keeps pronouncing his name “SATAN” (in Swedish with subtitles, or dubbed into English). At the funeral.

And Sundquist and Björck mesh in a wonderfully arms-length, sisterly way. No hugs, just a shoving match and kick-fight or two, “bonding” without overt “forgiveness.” Almost everything is left unsaid.

It’s entirely too predictable some of the time, but this film has some warm things to say about sisters, the lies families live with and the scars those lies, and decisions made to tell them, leave years later.

Sometimes, good manners and delicate denial just make everything worse, especially in Sweden.

Rating: TV-MA, death, childbirth, profanity

Cast: Sanna Sundqvist, Charlotta Björck, Ia Langhammer, Amaël Blomgren Alcaide and Peshang Rad.

Credits: Directed by Lisa Aschan, scripted by Marie Østerbye. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:31