I had asked that question with every tick tock of the clock during sleepless nights.
At 31, a hereditary retinal disease robbed my eyesight completely. It pulled a dark curtain of devastation and sorrow into my life and erased any hope I had of being a productive mom to my three, five, and seven-year-old sons.
One day, as self-pity was visiting again, a close friend called.
"Just checking on you," she said. "How are you doing?"
I wasn't doing. My life looked dark in every way and the tasks of a blind mom were too much for me.
"Okay, I guess," I lied.