Measure Me

I had a meeting this morning Lucy's school--the teacher, the counselor and the administrator.  We were trying to determine how  best to move forward since neither Lucy nor Keith and I are thrilled with the part of the high school she's in.  We are looking to move her and see if we can't get a better fit with challenging classes and electives that she can enjoy.  It was a good meeting.  I think they really want what's best.

After the official  part was over and it was just us and the counselor, I told her that I hope she can help Lucy with her emotions--frustration, anger, and grief.  We  talked about how she is doing.  Then the counselor asked how we were doing.

There's only ever one answer--unless I'm lying--"We're doing."  I choked up.  Just a tiny bit.  Then we were interrupted and I left.

There isn't an answer to that question.  There is no sliding scale with which to measure.  How do I know what is fine or good or bad or terrible.  There is no way to mark it on the door and watch it's passing.  All the quantitative things in the world have a way to be measured.  Not this.  Am I doing good if I haven't tried to commit suicide or abandoned my faith?  Am I doing horrible if I cry every damn day?  How in the world can I answer that question?  It would be great if there was  a  pattern or measuring stick or scale to measure against.  At least I think it would be.  Maybe it would just be one more way to judge myself.  Probably that.

I'm tired of trying to figure out how to answer that question.   Partly because many people who ask don't really want to know;  partly because I don't believe anyone should have to understand how I really feel;  and partly because I don't know how I am.

A grief yardstick.  That's what I need.  That way I could say,  "Well, yesterday I got to 30, but today,   I'm more like a 12 or a 700."  It could be universal and everyone would understand the scale--not like the metric system. 

I love my boy to a 6,000,000,000 and it's hurts like a 47,000,000,000.  Or vice versa.