How are you tonight? (I’m waiting for your answer) Like robots we ask folks how they feel and like robots they say “fine” or “how are you?” And nothing gets done. No connection has been made. But right now I want you to answer that question for you to hear your own answer. How are you doing? Is everything ok? Of course not. Everything is never all right but is everything reasonably right? Are you controlling what you can? Are you pretty much in charge of your life? Post-loss hours can be miserable hours. You pace a hard, uncaring floor. Scream. Cry until your tear wells are dry, then you cry some more. You feel ugly, your skin wracked, raw with tears. Your hair uncombed for hours, days, weeks. Then, one day a rainbow scratches her nails against your bedroom window and you get up out of bed. You take one shaky, little step and for a half of a half of a second, you feel the old you pressing through a crack in your skin. How are you doing? Better. A little bit better. Stronger. A few days stronger. It’s a process, right? This trudge toward the you you once knew or at least the you you recognized in the bathroom mirror. From what I’ve learned, none of us are ever the same after we wave the big goodbye (how’s that for a euphemism?) We just go on, dragging an unhealable limb behind us. How are we doing? Better by the hour might be as good as it gets.  
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