“How Are You?”
“Are You Okay?”
All things considering, I guess I am okay.  I don’t know anymore what being “okay” means.  I will tell you I am not on medication, but I think I should be.  I drink too much wine and eat too many cupcakes.
But who doesn’t…in even the best of circumstance.
Perhaps I am doing just “FINE”.
Before Ian died, I hated the word fine…or okay.  They’re mediocre, less than ideal words for describing a mediocre, less than ideal feeling.  I hate them still but I don’t know what else to say or what to do

Some say I should find a place where I can scream, loud and clear. So loud that Ian can hear me. Wherever he is. I could find someplace safe to scream that would not draw too much attention to the audible ache in my bones. But my voice is too small and too weak to try.

And that’s okay

Some say counseling would help where one week I can talk about this hole in my heart and the depths of my sadness and cry till my eyes run dry. Then maybe the next week I can talk about how angry I am and pound my chest raw until the physical pain can match my emotional trauma. Then on the third week I can share all the beautiful memories of him, the light that danced in his dark brown eyes, his crater dimples that graced his cheeks and and his oh so larger than life personality. The grief counselor would say I’m right where I’m supposed to be, feeling what I need to, processing my sadness and moving through life in an orderly way.

And that would be okay.

Some even tell me they feel him in their day and they have dreams about him. But I don’t. Not yet.  So I stay frozen. I’m afraid to move too fast, breathe too deep or even make too much noise….because what if I miss him? What if he comes to me and tries to tell me why he left, what was hurting him, and why he couldn’t stay?

What then?

What if he tries to come to me and because I screamed too loud, worked through my grief too fast, and just moved on with my life and I didn’t take the chance to feel him?

What then?  Not okay…

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