After my husband died, people asked me this question all the time and it made me mad. When I read this poem I say the words with anger and fling the words out of my mouth.

How are you doing?

I am doing.
I am doing what I have to do.
Life is made up of a bunch of doing.
A lot of the doing is not pleasant.
There are doers and there are those
who have doers do for them.
I am a doer.
I am doing.
I am doing
what I have to do
I will continue to do
what I have to do.

Do, did, done, doing.

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