You know the one: "How can I help?" or its kissing cousin "What can I do?" -- a pesky and problematic question that seems to need a response, but is so often ... well ... unanswerable. And everyone knows it.
The only question more difficult - and common - is "How are you?"
Don't get me wrong. I understand and acknowledge that these questions are deeply meaningful and evidence of great care and concern on the part of the person asking. It's just that I (I won't speak for everyone else deep in the Grief Pit) often haven't got a clue. Or, as in the case of "How are you", I *do* have a clue and really, I'm thinking that most people really don't want to know.
That said ... re: the "What can I do?" question. I finally have an answer.
Interesting that it took me until halfway through Aida's memorial service reception before I figured it out (and we'd been on the ride since mid-2006), but I felt so good to have finally understood what it was that I really really for real want you to do.
And here it is.
Just love me. No strings. I want for you to send a card, or an email, or leave a message on my voicemail. A text. Picture mail. Poke me on Facebook (if the redesign still allows you to do that) Something. I want you to do something at least once a week to tell me that you're thinking about me. That you haven't forgotten about me or about Aida. That you care. Even that you love me.
And that you don't expect me to answer you right away. Not yet. And that you'll wait for me to surface and *then* we'll go to coffee/a movie/a bike ride/a mini-vacation/road trip/just sit.
I want you to do that and I want you to not stop just because I don't answer you right away.
Like I told a friend recently bereaved himself, all the love and none of the pressure.
Just keep reminding me that you care.
In the meanwhile, between the deep and the surface, I have to figure out when it's really okay to empty her sock drawer.
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