The Million Dollar Question - How are you?

As soon as Marty died, what was usually such a simple question became one of the hardest to answer. How are you? The honest answer most of the time was that I didn’t know how I was.

It's made me realise that there are definitely two categories of this question:

1.      How are you? Please respond with “Fine. How are you?” So I can carry on with what I actually want to talk to you about.

2.     How are you? I genuinely want to listen to the answer to this question. This is the actual topic of my conversation with you.

Number 1 was pretty much what I was used to, and quite happy with. I was always fine, or good, or ok (or tried!), and had plenty of other better things to talk to people about than me feeling fine.

I could no longer answer it in this way without it being a total lie.

That’s not to say that answering it in a number 2 type of way was any easier mind. I didn’t know where to start. I struggled to articulate how I was feeling. I remember walking around the park one day with my friend Becca, probably about 3 months after Marty died. She genuinely did want to know how I was feeling and, god, I just blurted out all sorts of crap. A mish mash of how I was feeling two weeks ago, how I felt that morning, how I think Mark is feeling, how I feel when I go out places, how I feel when I take Robyn to a baby class, how I feel about waiting for medical appointments, how I feel when I see my counsellor. But that was my honest answer. I had so many thoughts constantly going around my head, and so much time to think about them. She patiently listened to me though, like I knew she would.

Then we went for a coffee and talked about the logistics of children starting school and wrap around care, and what was going on where we worked, because life does go on. And although I thought (and think) about Marty ALL THE TIME, I was also a mum to Robyn, a wife to Mark, a daughter, a sister, a friend. And I know that the world keeps on turning, and life goes on. My life goes on.

So I could do my best at giving you a roughly succinct version of how I was feeling. But I could also, and I’m glad I could and still can, talk about the normal stuff - the date you went on last night, or the person who pissed you off in work. I know that a lot of people who have been through something similar can’t do that. And I get it, what happens feels so all consuming that you really couldn’t give a flying fig about the crap day someone else thinks they’ve had. Because is it really crap compared to yours? In the grand scheme of things, probably not, but for them it is. So I personally can still listen to that, and most of the time with a sympathetic ear. I mean lets face it, I wasn’t in town on a date last night, I was probably spending 2 hours trying to get Robyn to sleep while quietly crying and hoping she wouldn’t hear me. So I’ll hear about your date please.

Don’t get me wrong, I have had the odd conversation where I’ve thought, really? You know what’s just happened to me and my family and that’s your opening line? That’s what you want to talk about? That’s how much time you are going to dedicate to talking about Marty? But, everyone is different, everyone has their reasons. Plus, I quickly became aware that over night, I unfortunately became someone that some people found it very difficult to talk to. Part of the reason for me setting up this website.

I totally understand why a lot of people in my position don’t like to hear other peoples ‘minor issues’, or day to day problems. And I questioned whether there was something wrong with me for ‘getting on with things’, for being able to go out for a walk to the coffee shop, for being able to go to a friends BBQ, for only ever crying when I was alone or when I was with Mark. I’m honestly not even sure if my mum and dad have seen me cry since Marty died. Don’t get me wrong, I was far from skipping down the street, but from the day he died I got out of bed every morning, dressed and showered, out and about. I was 100% functioning, I was doing it, I was carrying on, I was o….k, probably because I had to be - for Robyn.

I actually spoke to my counsellor a couple of times about being worried about whether I was ‘dealing with it’ properly, and peoples perceptions of me. She rightly asked why I cared what other people thought. I was worried I was going to have some sort of breakdown in 6 months time. She told me that she thought I was handling it extraordinarily well, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t handling it. I was ‘coping’ but coping isn’t being fine and great is it? I mean, I pegged it out of the supermarket one day and sobbed in the car when I saw someone I knew in the distance and didn't want to have to tell them what had happened.

She told me that I was doing the right thing by sitting with my emotions when I felt, and feel upset. I don’t brush it aside, I don’t distract myself with something else. I ride it out – I feel sad, guilty, confused, self pity, and I try to learn something from it, I piece something together. I relive our experiences over and over, and I come to terms with it a little more each time.

The only feeling I’d say I do actively push out, is jealousy. I don’t want to be jealous of other peoples babies, children, young siblings. I want my baby, not someone else’s. I want Marty.

If I was having a ‘good’ day when someone asked how I was feeling I always felt the need to caveat it with how I was feeling the day before, or something recent that had upset me. Now I think maybe that was because I was worried people were thinking I was responding like some kind of robot. Or that when I felt crap again a couple of days later they would think I was all over the place. I mean, who the hell wouldn’t forgive me if I was all over the place. But I was used to being a steady eddy, I was reliable, balanced, sociable (I think). And ultimately I think that’s all been true in how I have handled what has happened to me. There is no textbook answer on how to cope with life after your baby dies. Everyone's lives before and after are different, and everyones personalities and coping mechanisms are different.

I’m waffling now, just like I was to poor Becca.

I feel lucky that the majority of people who have asked me how I am since Marty died really do want the truthful answer, as long and as garbled as it may be (like this blog…) They ask me because they care. So, thank you.

The only thoughts I would give if you talk to someone who has been through something similar is to ask them how they are, ‘how are you today’? Because every day is different. And listen. Tell them you are there for them, when they need you. You don’t need to give any answers, you can't because you don’t have them. Sadly, I know for many people who care about us, you can’t make any of it better. But you can make it easier, just by being there, and asking - how are you?

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