There’s really so much to consider, and way too much to tell
My friend Martha has decided to answer “How are you?” with “Good, all things considered. And there’s a lot to consider!”
Family deaths and illnesses and other challenges have created a lengthy list of items for her to “consider.” But she knows most people don’t want to hear long, troubling descriptions. They don’t have time for much more than a perfunctory “fine.”
Her decision seems like the perfect one for many caregivers, too. I’ve mentioned before a caregiver friend frustrated when friends ask about his wife. “They want to hear my wife is getting better,” he said. “But she’s not. She won’t. She can’t.” So what do we say when “fine” isn’t entirely true, but anything else seems too complicated or too much?
My answer
When I get the question—and it’s always well-intentioned and usually from people who care—I sometimes smile and say, “I’m hanging in there,” because I am. It’s true I’m often frustrated, regularly sad, and sometimes disappointed. Nevertheless, I have several pleasant pursuits and a host of interested, interesting acquaintances and friends. And my wife and I have many positive moments together.
So “I’m hanging in there” is an honest answer, but not a complete one. All things considered, we’re doing OK. But for me, as for Martha, there’s a lot to consider.
Our experiences
Instinctively—I don’t know if it’s grace or pride driving me here—it seems best to keep most of it to myself.
There’s nothing to be gained by airing details about . . .
irregularity or indiscretions or incoherence,
unresponsive mornings or uneasy evenings,
physical symptoms I can’t explain or emotional reactions I wasn’t expecting.
It’s not necessary to burden everyday conversations or a weekly blog post with all the unpleasant specifics, even though every week has some. They’re embarrassing; Evelyn’s not yet past being embarrassed, and neither am I for that matter—embarrassed for her and for the unfortunate results of my own bad decisions.
And besides all that, they’re not the whole story. People can see Evelyn engaged and interested in those she seeks out in the church lobby; friends appreciate her warm greeting at our front door. I could mention the sweet smile I get many mornings when I go to wake her up. Illness hasn’t washed away everything attractive about her.
So there’s no need to describe the unfortunate incidents that punctuate every week; the ugly effects of these diseases are not the stuff of parlor conversation.
Who’s fault?
And not one of them is her fault. We’re seeing symptoms of Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s diseases here. No one criticizes a cancer victim for losing weight or thinks less of a kid in a cast who’s getting around in a wheelchair. But the effects of these neurological conditions are so surprising—and often confusing— and sometimes frightening—many people understandably just don’t want to face them. So I do well not to force acquaintances to do so.
But like my friend, I feel a bit inauthentic simply to smile and say “Fine!” every time someone asks, “How are you?” especially when my mind too often races first to the most recent difficult moments.
So I want to try Martha’s answer.
“Good,” I can honestly say, “all things considered.” Because these days, there really is so, so much to consider.
Photo by Valeriy_G at istockphoto.com