Happy Valentine’s Day.  A facebook post came up from three years ago.  Remember the ACDC concert?  We had a great time and for once, I lingered at the “3 years ago” memory and didn’t delete it in anger. I’m hiding in my office today, trying to get away from the inevitable question, “How are you doing?”  

I’ve given that question a lot of thought.  I was at my kids’ old daycare yesterday.  I haven’t seen them since Anna’s wedding, so as usual, I was prepared for questions that were going to be asked, forced conversations, awkward silence…even after a year, people don’t know how to approach me.  Don’t know how to probe.  Don’t know how to really ask if I’m doing OK.

I saw Michelle in the hallway two days ago.  We went out to dinner with her and her ex-husband in Wayzata.  Gorgeous day.  We took the bike.  You tried to convince them to buy a motorcycle.  (Of course). I haven’t nurtured this relationship since then as I am no longer walking in the elementary world, but that has also meant that I haven’t had THE CONVERSATION with her.  

Of course, she asked, “How are you doing?”  What I heard from her in those four words was more like, “Seeing you reminded me of when you and Scott and Tom and I met in Wayzata for dinner.  I’m so sorry to hear about him and I feel bad that we haven’t connected since he passed away (cause no one likes to say the obvious “he killed himself”).  I’m asking if you are OK because that’s what friends do, but I really hope that you don’t truthfully answer it because I’m really not prepared to have that deep of a conversation with you.  It’s too uncomfortable for me.  So please just answer, “I’m doing fine.”  That will allow me to walk past you and avoid your unpleasant reality.”

And so just like that, I answered, “I’m doing great!” With an extra emphasis on the word, “great.” Just in case she didn’t believe it.  Truthfully, I didn’t want to talk about IT either. Truthfully, I didn’t want to answer the question honestly either.  Truthfully, I just wanted to avoid eye contact all together.

And so it’s that way with Valentine’s Day too.  Friends who are concerned for me.  Paul, who is annoyingly and painfully sweet in ways that you never were.  I should be able to just enjoy the day, the cards, the cute red hearts without fearing questions like, “How are you doing.”  Really, I just want the day to go by quickly so I can go back to bed and start one year, seven months, and five days.