I’m Okay

I’ve been considering those words a lot lately. “I’m okay.” Because what does that even mean? If you see me in passing and say, “How are you doing today?” I will answer, “I’m okay.” But here’s the thing. I am so far from okay, but you don’t want to hear it. Actually, earlier this month, my daughter committed suicide. Today would be my mom’s birthday, and the constant refrain in my head right now is this: I’m a daughter who has lost her mother and a mother who has lost her daughter.

So, ya, I’m not okay. But the majority of the people I say that to don’t really want the truth. For those who do know my tragedy, I will say, “I’m pretty terrible, but I’m okay.” What does that mean?

I don’t want to talk about it.

I don’t want to worry you.

I know you care, but since there is nothing you can do, let’s just leave it there.

Or maybe this is just a mantra I say out loud to convince myself. A “fake it ’till you make it” slogan. Or maybe, since right this minute, I am as okay as possible, we can just leave it there. “I’m okay.”

But I am not okay. Don’t worry about me. I am as strong as you have always suspected. I gave birth to six children without an epidural. I run marathons (although mostly halfs). I power through nursing school and midwife school while raising those six kids. I’m in a doctoral program now. I am no marshmallow.

There is a big delineation in time between before I had lost a child and the after. I won’t even be the same person. I struggle to do some of the same things because they don’t feel like me anymore.

Maybe I will start blogging more again. Because it’s nice to use contractions again. But right now, it’s killing me that I can’t find the “Tigger” picture.