Oh Fine

It was somewhat inspiring, but a little bit bad, when I would ask Mother how she was toward the end of her life. Her stock answer was "Oh fine". You knew she wasn't fine. After all, she had a massive stroke that took away her ability to drive, walk or speak well. She had macular degeneration, which took away her ability to see and read. She also broke a hip or two. Daddy had died. She didin't have anyone to read to her. But, she never complained. She would just smile and say "Oh, fine".

I was never one to do that. If someone asked me how I was, I would tell them. If I had a pain, I would say where I hurt. If I had a problem, I would voice it. I was never just fine. That is, until today. I was in Sunday School. My third grade teacher came up to me and asked how I was doing, and I said "Oh, fine". She looked into my eyes and asked me if I was sure. I told her yes. She said that we had a good history together, so if I needed her for anything, that I was to call her. I appreciated the sentiment, but I was mad at myself. Why did I say what I did? Why couldn't I tell her the truth? I need a good paying job. I need a place to stay. I did have a good report from the doctor last week, which I thank God for, but I am not fine. I won't get anywhere if I am not honest with people, but for today--"Oh, fine". Gee. They say I look like my Mother, although I have a moustache. Now, I am sounding like her. Scary.