"I'm fine". The first thing someone asks you when they see you, "How are you?" To which you are supposed to respond "I'm fine".
I've always been a person who likes to make sure that everyone around me feels comfortable. I don't want to upset anyone, ruffle any feathers. So when someone asks me how I am these days, I say "I'm fine".
And I am fine. I am fine for someone who feels like their whole world fell apart two months ago. I am fine for someone who is constantly thinking about their loss. I am fine for someone who is repeatedly reliving memories that, while necessary, are not always pleasant. I am fine for someone who has to continually ask hard questions about their faith, and find a way to get through the doubt and the fear to somehow find my way back to hope and trust.
But I know that is not what you want to hear. The time has come, two months later, when everyone else has moved on. The time has come where I am expected to carry on conversations that have nothing to do with loss or fear or doubt.
So I do. And I am fine. But it is a different kind of fine than I was two months ago.