The dreaded question

In the last couple of weeks, I've been at events where I've met up with people I haven't seen since before Jen died, sometimes for years. Of course they know in outline what's happened. The first stage is when the person has to find an expression of sorrow and regret. I don't mind much what people say then, it's enough that they make an effort. I struggle more with those who never raise the subject at all, who tiptoe past it so carefully that Jen is never mentioned. More than anything I still want to hear her name, to know that she mattered a little to that person. One friend recalled how she first met Jen in Canberra in the mid 90s, and appreciated her effort to be hospitable.

The second stage is the question that I dread -- "how ARE you?". If you the reader have asked me this question, I know that you're well-intentioned, and you genuinely want to know. But I still have to draw on one of Jen's last lessons to me, that of grace. What I learnt was this: one can still be gracious under pressure. Even when she was in pain, doped up on medication, drifting in and out, and grieving over losing everyone she loved, Jen could still manage to be patient, to listen, to pull herself together to care for people. She didn't do it perfectly, but it was still enough to be striking. So I can do it too under much easier conditions, even though God knows I find it very hard at times.

Why is it such a hard question to answer? Partly it's the time factor -- do you want me to summarise the experience of the last 10 months in ten seconds or ten minutes? Partly it's the complexity -- grief is threaded throughout our lives, but now it's hard to isolate those threads from the rest, to see how the anger or withdrawal or sadness relates in a subterranean way to the fact that Jen's not here anymore. Our whole lives have been turned upside down, and every aspect is affected. More than both of those, it's about privacy for myself and the boys, and protecting ourselves. The true answer goes very deep into the heart of who we are and how we relate, and even to give the answer takes a good deal of emotional energy. Why should I do that for relative strangers -- as someone must be if they haven't spoken to me since last July? I take some risks on this blog, but I leave much out as well, particularly as it concerns the boys.

I hope I haven't been ungracious in my responses to this kind of question, and I apologise if I have. Sometimes I sense the enquirer is asking because it seems the 'right' question to ask, and I try and find some simple formula that doesn't demand too much of either of us - "OK, considering". Sometimes I focus on a simple practical aspect - school pickups, or domestic management - and sketch out our current life.

If you do want to know how we are, take a step closer. Ask about particulars - how we're managing kids sport or cooking or Christmas. You won't just get a potted response, and I'll be able to engage with your interest. It's then that I often find the commonality with the trials being a parent, or the experience of loss. If you do care then tell me sometimes of your memories of Jen, for now that memory is spread over all who knew her