How Are You?
I am struggling to answer the “How are you” question (retail staff being the single exception. “Good, thanks. You?” works efficiently with both parties, regardless of one’s euphoria or misery).
We are approaching two months since our beloved child left this world. How are we indeed? We are desperately sad, empty and wistful. At times it hurts to breathe. We are also grateful for our flourishing, generous, optimistic 8-year-old whose presence means that we get to keep the titles of mom and dad.
“How are you?” asks the cheerful dad at my surviving daughter’s gymnastics class. He has been on the peripheries while Natasha waged her war against a deadly brain tumor; politely concerned and consistently pleasant. I smile and there is a pause while I wait hoping that he will decode my silence as an inability to answer. The pause lingers, my smile widens, his brow furrows and we both move away awkwardly in unison.
I realize that I’ve handled this interaction clumsily, but what should I have done? “Good,” sounds flip, dishonest and dishonorable to my late child. “Not great, but how are you?” invites friendly banter with this personable acquaintance. I’m not ready to do that. Maybe I’ll never be ready to engage in that cheerful back-and-forth that I once used to enjoy.
In “Grieving As Well As Possible” author and psychiatrist Dr. Mardi Horowitz advises the newly bereaved who are socially discombobulated to respond thusly: “Thank you for asking about how I am, but I would prefer not going into how I am feeling inside just now. I know you will understand.”
That’s awfully wordy isn’t it, Dr. Horowitz? For parents of minor children, conversations such as the ones I used to have with cheerful dad, are carried out in fast forward mode. Information is swiftly exchanged at school or extra-curricular classes, typically with one eye on one’s barking dog (hope the principal isn’t going to be upset), or the car (did I park it just a tad over the resident’s driveway?).
My guess is that Horowitz, who has had a long decorated career at UCSF, is used to less hurried social exchanges. I get that he is encouraging the bereaved not to self-sequester at a time when we are most vulnerable. I’m just wondering if there is a shorter way of conveying the essence of his “not now, but thank you,” response.
My friend Frances has made a suggestion: “We are coping.” I will try this one out. But the truth is that small talk with acquaintances and casual friends is a chore these days, the heart’s equivalent to organizing my “Hoarders”-like closet. This might be especially the case if these people have healthy children themselves. Because there’s a question inside of me that can never be answered: How come you get to keep your children and I lost one of mine. She was (is?) a great kid. Why.
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THE MOURNING AFTER NATASHA 
[…] While researching for today I fell upon a remarkable blog by a mother who lost her daughter to cancer, “The Mourning After Natasha” has some remarkable posts. The two that resonated the most were , including What Not to Say To Bereaved Parents and How Are You? […]
My heart goes out to you. It has been 72 days since I lost my 25 year old. I feel for your tremendous loss.
At almost 7 months since we lost Charlie, he has been gone twice as long as he was alive. This question is still hard for me to deal with. Thank you for your sharing, it helps me feel more normal in my grief.
Hugs to you, Michael (and thank you). What a desperately brief life for your beloved child.
Hi Suzanne, Thank you for your post on the times about my piece. I am so very sorry for your recent loss. I know the anguish you must be feeling.Yes, you are describing a very similar feeling. No matter what anyone does or says we are in such an impossible situation. There is no answer to why our amazing children get so sick. I do know what helped me was having my other children and family and friends surrounding me. Also having things to live for. All my best to you. Kerry
Dear Suzanne, I am deeply sorry to hear about the loss of Natasha! Your posting is so meaningful and gets to the heart of the matter. My husband and I lost our only child to bone cancer in 2009. I would love to follow your postings and hope you will add me to your list. If you would like to check out the blog I write, I welcome you to. The address is http:mattiebear.blogspot.com.
I agree with you wholeheartedly, Dr. Horowitz’s advice to parents who lost a child is not reasonable. First of all, fellow parents do not talk to each other like this, and secondly they don’t have the TIME! You keyed into that. My husband’s response to people when asked how he is or if he has children is, “it’s a long story.” If someone wants to know they will ask, but in all the years he has been saying it, no one has ever asked to hear the LONG STORY! Interesting no?!
I am saddened this dad walked away from you, but you shouldn’t feel badly on how you handled this interaction. Learning to live with the death of a child is just that, it requires us to find a whole new language for ourselves, to almost reinvent ourselves as a person, and to learn new ways of interacting with the world (ways that get our messages across without hurting others and ourselves in the process). Based on your beautiful writings, I know you will find a way that works for you when you are ready. Keep on writing. Vicki
I like what you say about reinventing yourself, Vicki. This is exactly what we’re finding we have to do. I appreciate your kind words and the link to your blog about the loss of your Mattie. (I’ve had a look at it and will be coming back to it when I replenish my tissue supply!) Hugs and empathy.
P/S Your Mattie is a beautiful, beautiful child.