I am here

Lately I am realizing how irrelevant and insufficient the phrase, “how are you,” can be—especially when life is complicated. Not because it isn't an important question, but because it is often used to  gloss over how people really feel. It seems so inadequate to ask, and such a convoluted thing to answer.

One of the most difficult things that I have encountered so far is that my grief does not occur in a vacuum. I am not alone in this pain. For one, Chris was part of a crew, all of whom lost their lives. There are three other spouses, three other families who are grieving and hurting. While each of our experiences is as unique as the people we loved, we share a brokenness that makes my heart ache. As a squadron, community, and rescue family, we are all grieving. For each person, that experience looks very different. To ask, “how are you” feels like such a small question when I think of how complicated my own grief feels. It feels stupid and insufficient for what I really want to express, the depth of care that I want to convey feels lost in the question because it is so common place. That doesn’t mean it isn’t important to ask, because I want to know, in a real way. But then again, there usually aren’t enough right words when it comes to sadness (or love for that matter).

With family, the question feels ridiculous. How can I ask that of Chris’ family without feeling the huge hole that is part of our lives? In the days immediately following Chris’ death, I would cringe as I asked the question because I already half way knew the answer, of course you are feeling awful, so am I. With physical distance between us, asking was the only way I could discern how they were feeling that day. Again, the asking itself was important because I care; I want some idea of what they are feeling, how they are coping, or not coping.

There should be a wink, or some kind of hand signal for when you actually care how someone is doing-- something to convey that you want the person to answer with honesty and robustness. A gesture that implies your sincerity. Between friends and loved ones, I would hope there is a standing agreement that we always want to know the truth.

For now, it makes more sense to ask how are you doing today? Let us measure what we are feeling in small increments that feel a little less vague. If we can narrow it down to specific span of time, answering the question feels far less complicated. For the past ten minutes, I have been reasonably calm. Several hours ago, I was on the verge of tears looking at a t-shirt in the GAP.

And that is what makes answering the question feel like such an overwhelming feat. The answer is complicated. The easy answer is, I am okay. And for strangers, that answer feels sufficient without being a lie. But when my friends and family ask, I feel I owe it to myself and them to have a better response. Something that is honest. Again words fall short because I feel so many things in one day that it is hard to know where to start. 

I am okay because I am still here. I am sad because Chris is not. I am unsettled and restless without my home (my love). I am loved in ways I don’t always deserve and that humbles me greatly. I am tired. And at times I feel small doses of happiness, when I am loving my dog, or talking to friends about the life they are bringing into this world. In southern terms, I am just a hot mess. And I am okay with that.

For the sake of integrity without being overwhelming, my simple answer is “I am here.” I am living in the moment, I am taking each day as it comes. I am present. Those are all good things. And I am here if you want to tell me how you really are doing too.