I find myself in need of new sets of words.

This, dear reader, is new territory for me.

Talking with people is at the core of who I am. I got in trouble for talking in school constantly. I was a communications major. My job involves loads of chit chat.

Silence befuddles me.

But now, I find that my brain just can’t find the right words to make regular conversations.

I don’t have good ways to answer “How are you?” because I know full well most folks – though well-meaning – aren’t ready to hold the real answer.

“Oh! Well, it sucks a lot! Today was our wedding anniversary so between losing the cat in the attic, unnecessarily and obsessively reorganizing my fabric stash, and watching Ted Lasso, I cried and ate swiss cake rolls,” just isn’t polite, rain-into-someone-at-the-grocery-store kind of talk.

And if they don’t know about Preston’s death, I find myself wondering – to the point of absolutely not listening to a thing they are saying – if I should figure out some way to work it into the conversation.

“Oh! Your son got his height from your side of the family? Mine is taking after his dad. And well, he died a few days ago.”

And I’m not even sure I can answer the question of “How’s Conor?” because the truth of it is that I’m not totally sure. I think he’s OK? He isn’t weepy like I am, but he does get misty when we talk about Preston. We’ve done a good job keeping him busy and having lots of fun, and I think that helps a lot.

I think he, like me (most of the time) is still trying to figure out what this new life looks like. It’s simpler. Cooking and ordering for the two of us is straightforward. (that might be because I keep forgetting to feed myself, which I think I should probably work on fixing). I don’t have to time trips to school or to the store around who can be at the house to help out. We aren’t eating meals on the floor of the bedroom or talking about scans and scary stuff.

There are just these spaces. Spaces he used to fill. The third plate, the other towel, the extra load of laundry, the coffee cup. The mental load – medicines, doctor’s appointments, protein counts. The company, the advice, the conversations, the stories. The traditional anniversary sushi.

And in the same way I can’t quite figure out how to take up silence with carefully-chosen words, I can’t even begin to fill in all of the gaps he left behind. And I’m fairly certain I’d rather not try.

I think, perhaps, I’ll do what I often do when I have to talk in front of a group. I’ll work on my talking points, and rehearse them in front of an imaginary audience in the car.

(A side note: my absolute FAVORITE way to work through something is in the car and pretending to be interviewed by Terry Gross. She just asks me the best questions to get it all sorted out in my head.)

How are you?

We’re taking it one day at a time. But it’s hard, and we miss him.

What does your husband do?

He passed away a few weeks ago, but was Conor’s biggest fan.

How is Conor?

Kids are pretty resilient. We’ve got a great village and we’re trying to keep him busy.

Ok, I guess that wasn’t so hard. In the next episode, I’ll use this blog to work out exactly how to respond when someone says, “Oh, I’m so sorry” because “It’s OK” and “Thank you” feel real weird.