Well, at least that's what I'll tell you if you ask me how I'm doing. And I'll usually say it with a tired smile.
And I guess on some level, I am fine. I'm able to get up in the mornings, get the kids off to school, take care of all the errands that need to be done, get the kids to where they need to be after school, make sure their homework is done and get dinner on the table.
So, yes, I guess I'm fine.
But the entire time I'm doing all of these normal things- all things I did so easily, so lightly before Rebecca was born - with a huge weight on my chest.
I was on the verge of tears all day on Mother's Day. What a horrible holiday to have to "celebrate" when your baby is in heaven.
I was standing in the kitchen on Sunday evening and I couldn't top the tears. Dan was standing right behind me so I turned to him and told him that I was sad. So very sad.
As he hugged me, he told me that if I believe what I profess then I shouldn't be quite so sad.
I smiled at him and told him that I'm not sad for Rebecca like he thought. I know where my baby girl is. She's in heaven rejoicing with Jesus and that gives me great joy.
No. I'm not sad for her. I'm sad for me. Those tears were selfish tears. I miss her terribly, with a dull slow ache that I can't even begin to accurately describe.
As I was doing my devotions this morning, I came across this verse twice:
Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. - 1 Peter 5:6-7
And the words that seemed to jump off the page at me were that he may lift you up in due time.
In due time.
I know that eventually, in due time, he will lift me up and the sadness will lessen and the ache will subside. I'm counting on it in fact.
But for now it's all still there. And if you ask me how I'm doing.
I'll say, I'm fine. Just fine.