How are you?
It’s a good question, it’s a caring question. I cannot answer that question.
How are you today?
Also a good question, a slightly more understanding question. How am I today? It depends who you ask. If you ask the me of this morning, who was paralysed by a photograph of her Dad and herself on her wedding day she happened to glance at as she grabbed the milk out of the fridge, she is not ok. She saw the photograph, she watched the memories of that day behind her eyes like a slideshow, she watched herself be walked down the aisle by her beloved father and watched the tears of pride and joy in his eyes as he confirmed that he was there to “give this woman”. She watched that piece of life play before her eyes as she reached for the milk and was once again broken by the reality that her father is no longer there. Yet there he is, captured in time in a photographic window of the past. These memories are far from sad, but they hurt. That me is not ok, that me still does not understand how a person can no longer be, that person cannot accept the truth that she will never see her father again.
If you ask the me of an hour later, she is fine. She helped her kids dress and clean their teeth, piled them into the car, laughing at a joke one said and felt proud that the other is starting to talk more, sharing her little voice with the world. She drove happily to nursery and gave her kids a kiss and a cuddle as she dropped them off. She got back into the car and made a few phone calls. Sorrow and loss did not cross her mind as she went about her business. She greeted other mums and dads at nursery with a wave and a smile and she answered the question “how are you?” with a “fine thanks”, because in that moment, for that piece of her day, she really was fine.
How are you on the whole?
I can answer that question. Up and down. Up and down is what I am. I cannot predict when I will be paralysed by grief, I cannot guess when the wave will hit me or how long it will take for the wave to become ripples and slowly ebb away once more. It might be that I am fine for a week, you would never guess during that time that I am plagued by such sorrow. Your friends might ask after me, “how is she doing then?” they might say, and you would say “ah she’s fine!”.
If you are fine half of the time, are you fine?
Sometimes my brother calls and he asks how I am doing. I would feel melodramatic telling him the above. Speaking of this other me frequently strangled by grief who simply cannot process that the unthinkable happened, who does not understand why the universe didn’t stop and take notice.
The me who is fine feels silly admitting to the other “overly emotional” me, the “dramatic” me.
And yet I am mostly alone during the day. I cannot seem to do anything. I have been a stay at home mum for the past 4 years. I should be out there searching for jobs, but I am afraid to, I often feel socially anxious, awkward, lacking in self-confidence.
How are you? I don't really know, but keep asking.