But in addition to feeling a little better, my definition of good has changed.
My new, slightly subdued "good" has a hint of hesitation to it. Like Why yes, I am doing OK today. Thank you for asking because I didn't realize that I feel OK, and am somewhat surprised that I'm not on the verge of tears.
I suppose everyone has their go-to response to "How are you?" that rarely changes, no matter how they actually feel. One of my coworkers responds "Fine thank you how are you?" without fail anytime someone asks. My "good" is no longer an automated response to fit the social norm. I have to think about it.
If you ask how I'm doing and I say, "Good," it doesn't mean Everything is back to normal, or I don't have a care in the world, or I'm not thinking of my babies. It means I am happy that I could get out of bed today, or I am doing better, or I am learning to live with this unending ache in my heart.
I'm still on the verge of tears sometimes. But when I am able to reply "good" I don't feel like I'm lying anymore. I saw this quote on another BLM blog, from the book Still by Stephanie Cole, and it explains this odd feeling. My new "good" is a sign of my increasing ability to deal with my loss, not a sign that the pain is going away. I just have a new standard of what it means to feel good:
"People will tell you that time heals. Those people are liars. The pain doesn't go away, you just build up your tolerance to it. It is like lifting weights. If you try to lift 500 pounds, it is going to crush you. But if you lift it every day of your life, it is going to get easier and easier to do, and eventually you are going to lift it without breaking a sweat..."Perhaps instead of responding, "Good!" I should be saying, "As good as I can be!"
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