Austin Xavier

Part of dealing with the New Normal is now having to deal with the invisible complexities of every day life.  Today’s complexity is the simple, innocuous question, “How are you doing?”  I’m not sure people realize how difficult this question is to answer, as I’m sure anyone who has been through really rough times can attest.

For 65% of the questioners, the answer is simple: “I’m fine” with a perhaps a fair turn of “And you?” thrown in for politeness.  These are the people who don’t know me from Eve, most likely don’t really care, and are using the question to acknowledge my existence while they ring me up, carry my groceries, or stand uncomfortably in line with me.  These people hold no pressure over me.

Another 5% percent of the questioners are easy: they get the truth.  These are the close family and close friends who know what happened and what we’ve been going through.  They stayed with us at the hospital, visited us at home, and cried with us at the celebration- and even now, a month later, still check in on how we’re handling it all.  These people are non-judgmental when I tell them that I hid in a bathroom at work to cry or that I woke up sad and couldn’t shake it all day.  And they understand if I start to choke up while I’m answering them, even if I’m telling them that it was a better day than yesterday.

The last group is the group I wish would not ask.  These final 30% are co-workers, distant family, and acquaintances who know what we’ve been going through, but not intimately.  These are the people who stop me in the hallway or send me a quick text message that is most difficult to answer: “How are you doing?”  I don’t think they understand what they’re asking of me.  Every possible answer to this group who knows me, but doesn’t know me that well, is setting up a minefield to blow us both up. Here’s why:

“I’m fine/good.” – I think this is truly the answer most people expect to hear because it acknowledges that we’ve seen each other and that we care about each other enough to care about the day, but there are no real strings attached.  The problem is that these people know I’ve lost my son.  If I say that I’m fine or doing well, are they taking this to mean that I’ve grieved and moved on?  Do they think this means I’m over it?  Because I’m not.  I’m really really not.  “I’m fine” doesn’t really mean this at all.  Here’s the long version of “I’m fine”: “I wasn’t crying an hour ago, and nothing in the last twenty minutes has reminded me of my son or the fact that he’s not here with me, so at this exact moment that you stopped me in the hallway and asked me how I was doing, I was fine.  Keep in mind, this answer promises no such thing for the next hour or so.”  I’m not sure most people got the memo on this answer’s new extended definition.

“There are good days and bad days.”  There are two problems with this answer.  First, it assumes the questioner is truly asking me how I’m doing emotionally with dealing with everything, and not the banal “Acknowledge me because I acknowledged you.”  If I was wrong about that, I just made someone feel awkward and have to make that decision between trying to extricate themselves or staying and hearing me out.  As someone who has fairly low self-esteem when it comes to talking to this group, I generally assume the second is true. The second problem?  I sound like an Alzheimer patient who sometimes knows exactly who she is and what’s happening, and other times is stuck in a present she can’t recognize.  Honestly, some days that’s not too far from the truth.

The last answer is problematic in that it’s the truth, but not what anyone in this group wants to hear.  They want to hear something positive, or humorous, or something that they can empathize with. This answer is as follows: “How am I doing?  My husband and I lost our son, and there is a hole in our hearts.  I spend my day listening to everyone else talk about their kids and what they were like as babies and what they’re like as adults, and it only reminds me that I don’t get that with Austin, but I can’t say anything or walk away because it makes everyone else uncomfortable.  How am I doing?  I’m hurting.  I’m hurting so deep inside that it usually doesn’t even make it to the outside where you can see it, and really the only people who even know it’s there is my husband, because he feels it too, and our family and friends because they shared in both our joy and our pain.  And you want me to sum up how I’m doing into a quick, unemotional answer that I can give you in passing in the hallway or in a quick text?  I’m fine.”

Unfortunately, the ending there takes us right back to the original problem. I haven’t quite gotten a hang of this who New Normal thing.  I want my old one back.  I want my answers to this question to be simple and honest and often something we can share a laugh over.  I want questions and answers to have only the one layer.  But, I guess I’ll deal with it, as I’ve dealt with everything else so far.

After all, I’m fine.