My wife died in April. When someone asks how I’m doing, here’s what I don’t say | Opinion

My wife Ruth died in April. I am struggling with her loss. I miss her deeply, and for the most part, I feel terrible. I am not close to “getting over it.”

Since Ruth’s death, I have been repeatedly approached by relatives, friends, acquaintances and many other caring people over the course of my day.

With good intentions and often with some discomfort, they all ask me the same thing: How am I doing?

I have tried multiple responses — but I still don’t have the right answer. There have been many bad answers, many uneasy pauses.

In fact, most people already know the answer: I am not doing well.

They inquire in hopes of making me feel better, because they want to convey their concern. How are you doing? is just what one asks in such situations.

Still, I sense my response doesn’t help anyone feel better. Most people seem ready to escape the conversation. I see no benefit in replying honestly, letting them know I’m not doing well, which usually makes them feel worse. Nor do I think it helps them or me to say I am doing well when I’m not.

Working as a primary care physician for more than 40 years, I asked the same question of family survivors many times, never feeling as good as I wanted to and never feeling good about my role.

But I tried, always feeling that saying something was better than saying nothing. I made it my goal to contact every family surviving my patient.

I hope I helped. I wish I had helped more, done better.

As I now become a more experienced (if not yet effective) mourner, I am formulating a better response to this challenging question. I have also learned more about meaningfully interacting with these souls seeking only to help me.

So what do I do?

First, I talk to anyone who wants to speak with me, in person, on the phone or by email. Some are unexpected people who care about Ruth or me or our sons. Great. I welcome them.

Some are missing. So be it.

Then I make eye contact if we’re in person, with personal touch if it seems appropriate. By phone or email, I try to connect on a human level with some casual talk.

I then answer the inevitable question this way:

First, I thank them for contacting me, and to make sure the message gets through, I do it more than once. I make sure to add, “Thanks for asking. It means a lot to me.”

Then, I try to find something they had in common with Ruth, like “I know you were both big Mariner fans,” or “Didn’t you both like Gordon Lightfoot?”

That will usually get a positive response, and often a smile or a laugh.

Finally, I thank them again for asking and simply say I am doing the best I can. I also make sure to wish them well.

I think we both leave the conversation feeling a bit better, or at least that’s my hope — even if it doesn’t always work.

There’s one more thing: After such a meeting, I will inevitably cross paths with someone who has just lost a loved one. We all do. When I see they’re sad or struggling, I don’t ask how they are doing. I don’t try to cheer them up. I don’t give them advice.

I extend my condolences, extend my concern, and I wish them well. That’s it. I hope I have helped, if only a little.

The grief process will play out differently for everyone. Our job is not to resolve it or to “fix it.” It is to gently move it along and provide support to the grieving.

To those of you who have dealt with loss, to those of you dealing with loss now, and to those who will at some point deal with loss, please know I am truly sorry about your pain.

May we all provide each other at least a bit of kindness, strength and peace for this sad, difficult journey.

Dr. Richard Waltman practiced family and geriatric medicine in Pierce County for 36 years. His wife, Ruth, died in April 2023.

This op-ed was originally published in the Seattle Times.