Have you ever gotten a comment that sounded like concern but wasn’t? I got one of those today.

I had just come back from the eye doctor. The gal on shift was out watering some flowers. When she saw me, she asked about my eye patch (I have to wear it for 24 hours). Then, without missing a beat, she said, “So, have you started getting on with your life yet?” To say I was surprised would be an understatement.

“Well, knowing that Jack might not make it past August is kind of a heavy load to carry around.” I answered a bit sarcastically, taken aback by the question.

“Mmm-hmm. But you’re young. You have a lot of life ahead of you and you need to start doing something about it.” she said. “Jack isn’t here any more.”

I was saved from answering (fortunately) by a customer who stopped to chat. I made a beeline for home, ears steaming, and slammed the door.

This woman has never been a caregiver. Her comments were probably well meant. I’m sure my life doesn’t look like much right now (at least to her). But she can’t judge whether I’m moving forward or not, because she’s not in my shoes. She wouldn’t last a day in them.

This woman has no clue that when I get up every morning and go to work, I AM moving forward. When I go out and socialize with guests while grief weighs down my heart, that IS getting on with my life. When I put in the energy and the time to make things look beautiful, I AM doing something about it. I am moving forward in spite of my grief.

I AM getting on with my life, every single day. And this woman doesn’t see the amount of energy and raw courage it takes to do that, because it happens in the privacy of my trailer. But it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t see it, because I do.

Her comments made me realize just how strong I am. They made me see the strength and determination that drive me to continue living, even when my grief wants me to quit. I am moving forward beautifully. And I am the only one who needs to notice that.