Fine

*I named my blog Authentically Aubrey because I don't want to filter my thoughts or feeling. The name is a reminder and promise to me. I don't want this to be a social media highlight reel. I don't want this to be life through rose-colored glasses. I want this blog to show the ugly, messy, and real parts of my life that you wouldn't know about unless I put it down in words here.*   

*Also note that this blog post is raw, vulnerable, and anything but optimistic because today is March 6th: the 2 monthiversary of losing Cayden. This post was written as word vomit and free therapy for myself. No edits. No filter. I decided to post it to show that grief isn't linear. You don't simply feel a little better every day until you eventually forget the heartwrenching, gut-punching loss. Grief is strange. Dates can trigger it. Songs can trigger it. Guilt for being happy can trigger it. Sometimes, grief smacks you in the face with no warning and no trigger at all. Grief is a bad word that I won't type here but that I am totally saying out loud to myself.*


Right after the news of Cayden's death spread, people would ask how we were doing and we couldn't answer "fine." We were drowning and if we said "fine", we would have lost the last air in our lungs, replacing it with water. We were drowning, but we weren't allowed to die. Obviously, we couldn't reply "fine." 

Instead, we would say things like "as good as can be expected" or "functioning". Often, we would just shrug our shoulders and make a half-hearted attempt at a smile that came out as more of a grimace because if we inhaled we would have choked on our own tears.

For a few weeks, no one expected us to say we were fine and these answers were expected and accepted. Eventually, we felt the expectation to say "fine" again. I mean, we were both working again. Eric back to the night shift at the store. Me, taking care of the kids, the house, and researching and writing blogs for a family company during infrequent naptimes and after bedtime. Since we were functioning on a level that no one, including us, expected, what other answer was there? If anyone had stopped by the house, they would have seen an empty sink, folded laundry, dinner simmering in the crockpot, and the girls in clean clothes, their hair braided in hopes of keeping it free of the glitter and glue of their daily art project. What conclusion could they make other than that we were fine? Fine became the automatic answer that we regurgitate without thinking and that everyone swallows without chewing. Okay, a gross metaphor for visual thinkers, but accurate nonetheless.  

I have grown to despise the word "fine." What does fine even mean? Does anyone ever think before they spit it out? Do people actually mean it? Fine. Blahhh! FINE! *grinds teeth and pulls out hair* 

Is not falling asleep until 3 am due to trauma-induced insomnia fine? Is meticulously cleaning the fridge, organizing the pantry, and scrubbing the bathroom floor because the OCD you thought you had overcome has suddenly come back with a vengeance fine? Is screaming into a pillow because you are exhausted, overwhelmed, grief-stricken, and isolated fine? Is needing to hear both of your living children breathing in order to relax fine? Is begging and pleading at God to let you know that He hears you fine? Is crawling out of bed at 2 am so your angry, heartbroken sobs don't wake anyone fine?

If so, I am fine.

Rest assured, this isn't all the time. Well, the insomnia is relentless, but the exhaustion is overcoming the obsessive cleaning and organizing. The sobbing is pretty infrequent, replaced by silent tears that only come when things are silent and arms are empty. The need to plead with God is... basically nightly.

But how can you explain this experience to someone who says "I can't imagine what you are going through" BUT there is still so much pressure to be fine?

It might seem ridiculous that we feel so much pressure to be fine when today is only the 2 monthiversary of losing Cayden, but we do. When you have always been the "golden child", the "peacemaker", the "helper", the child parents don't have to worry about because you have always had a firm hold on the rod, and the friend that people come to when they are struggling, are you even allowed to not be fine?

And even if you reach a point where you are ready to scream "I AM NOT FINE!" who is there to hear you when their focus has shifted back to 'normal life'? It doesn't matter that they can't hear you though. You can't scream when you are drowning.