Lauren Denton
We Southerners are really good at saying “everything’s fine,” aren’t we? We see acquaintances in the grocery store or library, or church nursery and we ask each other, “How are you?” Our response tends to be an involuntary “Good! How are you?” And we get the same response back. And that’s even when things are anything but fine. It’s just how most of us tend to work.
My mom passed away this past June, and within a few hours, our phones were ringing off the hook and people started coming by my parents’ house. I’d brought food and supplies to people in difficult situations before, but I’d never been on the receiving end of it (other than meals when we had babies), and my initial reaction was to answer the question of “How can I help?” with a quick, “We’re fine, we’re good.” In other words, I’ve got it under control; I don’t need the help. But I soon realized my self-sufficiency went out the window when it felt like the rug had been completely pulled out from underneath me, and I knew I — along with my dad and our whole family — needed the help.
Being the way I am, that is one who doesn’t like to be sad and tends to push away hard or sad feelings, it was awkward feeling like we were opening ourselves up to so much attention and care and thought and help. It was humbling to accept dish after dish of food, bottles of wine (even a chilled one in the middle of the afternoon from a neighbor who understood what we really needed!), paper products, and hugs. I wanted things to be okay, and it took a little time to understand that things wouldn’t be okay again — at least, not in the same way they were before — and the people there helping were those who were willing to stand by us while we were hurting, and yes, ignore me when I said things were “fine.”
Several days after the funeral, I left Mobile and headed back to Birmingham with Kate and Sela. After stopping in Greenville to grab lunch to eat on the way, we got back in the car only to realize my car battery was dead. Without the AC, there was no way we could stay in the car while I figured out what to do — this was during the heat wave back in mid-June — so I took the girls back inside the Subway. While they ate, I started making phone calls. I called the Greenville police non-emergency number, thinking that’d be a safe way to get a jump for the battery, but no one answered. I googled auto parts stores and tire places in Greenville and called the first one that came up, but they couldn’t help. (At some point, one of the Subway workers popped her head out the door and asked if everything was okay, and I said, you guessed it, “We’re fine, thanks.”)
I called the second auto part shop, and they said no but suggested I call a third. When I got someone on the phone there and explained that I was stuck at the Subway by the interstate with a dead battery and my two kids with me, the man paused. Then, “Ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you I can’t help you. We only have two people working today and I can’t leave my co-worker alone in the shop.” Dangerously close to tears, I asked him if he had any other suggestions for me. Basically, I admitted we were helpless. I heard him sigh, then he said, “You’re at the Subway? Sit tight. I’ll be there in a minute.” About that time, the Subway worker came back outside and asked again if I was okay. Relief that help was on the way mixed with my fatigue and grief, and I just cried. Of course, I did manage a “We’re fine,” though I think the tears probably told her otherwise.
A few minutes later, my knight in shining armor showed up. Actually, he was a man with a long gray ponytail driving an old purple pick-up truck, but over the next hour and a half, he jumped my battery then installed a new one back at his store. After checking to see if my current battery was under warranty, which it was, he refunded me the money for the new battery and then made sure we had everything we needed before we got on the road back to Birmingham. The very next day I wrote him a thank-you note and told him how terrible the timing of my dead battery had been but how I’d always be thankful for the angel at the AutoZone
in Greenville who offered me help when I was completely helpless and anything but fine.
I bought a tee shirt back in 2020 with the words “It’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine” across the front. Of course, during that weird year, things were anything but fine, and I continue to wear the shirt now, even though life is still hard. Since my mom’s death, I’m much better at not tossing out a breezy, “I’m fine” when people ask how I am. Usually I just say I’m okay, which is often closest to the truth. I also find myself paying more attention when people tell me they’re fine, because I know all too well how that simple Southern phrase can mask a whole lot of hurt, and sometimes a simple “Sit tight, I’m on my way,” is the best way to help.
When I’m not writing about my family and our various shenanigans, I write novels and go to the grocery store. My next novel, “A Place To Land,” releases Oct. 4. You can reach me by email at Lauren@LaurenKDenton.com, visit my website LaurenKDenton.com, or find me on Instagram @LaurenKDentonBooks or Facebook @LaurenKDentonAuthor.
