A poem about the complexity of a relationship with someone who was in hospice before contracting COVID where she became comatose, and yet pulled through.
How Are You Really Doing?
©Gail Lipe
"How are you really doing?"
A simple question,
you would think.
How do I tell her
that a full parking lot
often scares me?
"I can do this. I can do this.
I can do this."
My mantra as I enter the store.
How do I tell her
that panic sets in
at the most inopportune times,
like when I can't find the candy canes?
"I can do this."
How do I tell her
that one minute I'm fine
and the next thing I know
I'm struggling to keep my composure?
"I can do this."
How do I tell her
that her dying was hard,
and her having COVID
and how it affected my work
was hard,
and then her getting better
and me going back to work
was hard?
"How are you really doing?"
"OK. The last month has been a struggle,
but I'm OK."
October 30 was my parent’s wedding anniversary. Interesting, really, growing up with their anniversary the day before Halloween. Anyway, I still miss them both. I wrote this poem when my mother was in hospice care before and after she contracted COVID. So much was going on in my life, along with the probability of her dying of COVID and the responsibilities placed upon me at that time, as well as the emotional deep feelings. When she was lucid, she worried about me, often mentioning her concerns for me after she was gone. Panic attacks were frequent, but I didn’t want to burden her with that. This poem was written after a hard panic attack when she asked, “How are you really doing?”