An Honest Answer


I’ve been prepping clients to testify for litigation for over ten years now. This can be a lawyer’s worst trial nightmare if your client is a talker and can’t bring themselves to believe that things like “I don’t know”, “I don’t remember” or “Can you ask that again?” are all legitimate answers. When you force yourself to create answer when you really aren’t sure can be dangerous ground.

I think it is something inherent in our DNA as people that when we are asked a question, we feel forced to give an answer. In this day of quick “Hi. How are yous?”, I don’t want to give a  long drawn out answer and the person hearing the response doesn’t really want to listen to a dissertation about my problems either. We have settled for frosting covered niceness. Civility without the depth. I use to be a huge abuser of this trait. I would ask “How are you?” and hardly wait for the answer. I find this almost impossible to do anymore.
So I’ve started taking my own advice.

When I see someone in real life that I haven’t seen since I lost my brother and they ask me “How are you?”, I say the only thing I know how to say and be truthful:

“I don’t know.”

It is not a false statement. I really don’t know how I am most days. Many mornings are blasted with the humdrum of soccer practice, dirty dishes, laundry, work and the daily functions that keep our little family in a rhythm. My kids need a steady beat of rhythm in normal circumstances. But these days, we all need even more than usual.

Some days are a fight to get out of bed. I want to lay down and cry and scream and break every piece of glass I can get my hands on. There are moments of sheer delight watching my kids throw themselves headlong into summer’s glory and yet there are moments when I struggle to be around so much merriment. Moments some days are filled with thanksgiving for small gifts, like a sunrise or a new flower growing and some moments when I list my things for which I am grateful, I stare a blank paper.

The truth is that there is a void in my life. A void that can only be filled by a six foot tall,  gorgeously blue-eyed little brother who use to text me that I needed to cut back on the Twinkies because my butt was bigger than the last time he saw me. I’ve never wanted to be called fat so badly in all my life.
It is always going to hurt. There will always be a missing piece to my heart and family events will forever be a touch of sweet and sour.

My soul knows all the appropriate things to say to someone going through grief like me.

“He’s in a better place.”

“You will see him again.”

“This life isn’t forever.”

And there are days that I can give myself a pep talk long enough that it works.

But for the days that I can’t stop crying at ridiculous country songs or seeing his things in my house, I’ve given myself the grace to say “I don’t know” how I am today and to believe that it is an honest answer.

Lindsey Andrews
About me

Attorney & Author. Always in search for daily joy.

YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE

alt="camping"
5 Must Haves Before Your 1st Camping Trip
May 23, 2016
weekend
Best of The Web This Week
April 24, 2016
depression
Borrowing My Brave
April 18, 2016
"instagram"
Instagram: The Most Depressing Place In CyberSpace
February 19, 2016
valentine's day
When There Is No Love Left For Valentine’s Day
February 12, 2016
fatherhood
Daddies & Daughters: Learning To Be A Knight
February 02, 2016
"parenting"
Letters to Lexi: Promises About “Bad” Choices
February 01, 2016
alt="parents-stop telling yourself to do better"
Parents-Stop Telling Yourself To “Do Better”
January 28, 2016
Sweetness of Sundays
Sweetness of Sundays
January 17, 2016