Please Don't Ask Me How I'm Doing...

... Because I don't know how I'm doing.

Because I can't handle answering that question right now.

Because I know the many answers swimming around in my head, but I also know that few of you are prepared to hear them.

Last week, two months to the day after my sweet friend Angie died, my sister died.

Yep.

Those words--my sister died.  Just like that.  My sister died last week.  She's gone.  My sister is dead.

I can't say those words without a deep sob of anguish welling up from places so deep within myself I'm doubled over.

WHY?  It's not fair.

No, there's nothing you can do.  I don't know what to ask for.  Please don't hug me.  I don't think I can do meaningful hugs right now.  There is a pile of condolence cards on my kitchen table.  I can't bring myself to read them quite yet.  No, I don't really want to talk about it.  I don't think I can handle it, and I don't know how to talk about it.  I'm not capable of having this conversation right now.  No, I don't want you to pray over me, but what you do in the privacy of your own space is your business.  Really, I cannot handle any of this right now.  So please, if I say I don't want prayer, or I tell you I'm fine, please just take me at my word.  I've been sending Shawn to work.  I'm telling myself I lost her years ago and I'm at peace with this, that I've already grieved and mourned her loss long ago when our relationship ended.  But I don't know if that's really true.  It's a bald-faced lie and I know it.  I'm pissed off.  I lost any chance at ever having a relationship with my sister.  And I'm still grieving Angie.  This is a brand-new wound on top of an already still-fresh one.  The viewing is tonight; I'm going, but I don't think I can go in and see my sister--like that.  We're burying her tomorrow.  I can't even comprehend it.

But I'm fine.  I'm okay.  No, really.  

So please just don't ask me how I'm doing.