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.