How ARE You?

This is the question everyone still feels obligated to ask, but few people want to really hear your answer. It's such a difficult question to answer because there is no simple way of expressing the range of emotions you feel every hour, every day. It's a question that can bring on strong emotions faster than the snap of a finger, and it can happen in public places where having tears roll down your face is just not exactly what you want to do.

So, you pause, try to collect yourself, to give a thoughtful answer without sounding like a drama queen or someone consumed with pity. You pause. You're not finished with the answer by a long ways. You just pause. And they, in their nervous state, become uncomfortable and jump in to fill the silence they find so unacceptable. And they go on, and on, and on. They're trying to do the right thing, really, but you were just collecting your self. You paused. You didn't finish. And you never get to finish, because they really don't want to hear the whole answer. It's unnerving to some, depressing to others. The silence is unacceptable. Must fill this awful silence with talk! Mustn't get into so close to those emotions!

You want them to understand there is no simple answer. I'm fine one minute--until I hear a song, catch a familiar smell, see a picture or an object I haven't seen in weeks--and then it hits me. The moment might be brief, or might send me down for hours, until I can finally get to sleep. I'm grieving all the time, that's how I am. I'm angry at being alone, that's how I am. I'm so tired of coming home to an empty apartment I could just sit at the doorstep in cry, if that would do any good. (I've tried; it won't.) I'm confused and don't know what to do with the rest of my life. I don't know how to restart my life. I don't even know what I want out of my life. I don't know if I can survive being alone. That's how I am.

Honest answers take more time than most people can give. So, when I next get the "How ARE you?" question, I will just say, "I'm OK, thanks." That's what most people want to hear. They don't want to get your whole story or to be your confessional or a shoulder to cry on. You can see the relief when you give the short answer, the fear when you pause, the regret when you offer details they cannot handle and don't want to hear.

I really do understand. They haven't see death up close and I am a reminder that at some point they will see these things they don't want to see, go through something they don't want to experience. When my father died I was much the same. Denial was my specialty. I did everything I could to avoid thinking about the reality of the situation. I was disgustingly upbeat most days. I cringed every time Mama started to cry. Raw emotions are unattractive and if you've never been around them you just want to run the other way.

I'd just as soon someone not ask me how I am, but I remind myself they are trying to do the right thing. They may be lousy at it, but they are trying. And I'm trying to give an honest answer that doesn't make the other person cringe. I've got a ways to go.

Can I Ever Enjoy Doing Us Things with Just Me?

Ten months after his death, I'm now almost done with the estate and financial issues and can begin to contemplate the next phase of my life. In recent weeks I've had the opportunity to do several things we did, always together, and I'm unsure whether these are things to enjoy or avoid. Sharing the experience together was, in many cases, what made them special; doing them alone just makes them hard to enjoy.

Divorced friends and family have had little to offer, in part because they've either moved to a different place or their shared experiences involved property or people who are now off limits. So, this is an issue I'm going to have to decide on my own, meaning decisions will come with each event. I've done some of the "us" things, consciously avoided others, but am unsure if either decision was the right one.

He loved snow--like a child can love snow. When a recent big storm hit all I could think of was how excited he would have been. He'd have insisted that I put on my boots after work so we could get on the subway and go downtown for Chinese and then a walk around on the quiet streets. I couldn't do it, and instead just took a quick walk around the neighborhood.

Movies are another challenge. I've gone to three by myself, with mixed results. What I miss most is the chance afterward to go out for coffee to talk about what we'd just seen. I know this would be easier if I invited friends, but this requires more planning that I've been able to accommodate because of the need to get other things done. But do I really want to do these things with someone other than him? I don't have an answer yet.

Vacation is the next big decision. Go where we went or some place new? Last year I did go back to our favorite place. It was an easy choice because I didn't want to play tourist or have to learn new restaurants. Now, I have the opportunity to go places I've never been, or alone or with him, and don't have a clue whether that would help or just remind me of the pervasive loneliness I confront every minute of every day.