Going Through the Motions

During my grief support group meeting last night, we spent some time discussing how we respond when people ask, "How are you doing?" We all seemed to be resorting to a "canned" response, which goes something like this: "I'm doing okay. I have good days and bad days." Our counselor then asked, "What is a good day?" And that stumped us all. That's a difficult question to answer, and I suspect it is a very individual thing.

It's easy to identify the bad days. In the beginning, it was pretty much every day. The good days? That takes some thought. I have spent a good deal of time thinking about it today, and I think, for me at least, a good day is a day when I don't feel like I'm just "going through the motions"—a day when I can engage in some diversion that takes me out of myself and lets me forget, at least for a little while, what I have lost; a day when I spend more time remembering the happy times and less time thinking about the "if onlys"— if only they had diagnosed him sooner; if only I had suspected cancer in the beginning and taken him to the Moffitt (a research hospital that specializes in diagnosing and treating cancer); if only we'd had more time… I can honestly say that I'm having more good days, thanks primarily to my wonderful circle of friends. I'm not sure they are outnumbering the bad days yet, but I know that will come.

Last week was filled with diversion for me. I attended a medical writers conference in Dallas. I led a networking discussion on freelancing, participated in a panel on writing creative nonfiction, and had lively conversation with friends over dinners and lunches. While I was in that environment I didn't think of myself as "Donna the widow." I was "Donna the medical writer." Of course there were some sad moments when I saw old friends, most of whom I only see once a year. Some of them knew about Art's illness and subsequent death; some knew he had been ill but didn't know he'd died; and some didn't know any of it. There were some awkward moments and a few tears, but, for the most part it was okay.

One moment sticks in my mind. In response to the news of my loss, one person responded with sympathy and then said, "You look good." I can't help but wonder how she expected me to look.