How are you doing?

People often ask, "How are you doing?"
How do I answer that question?
The honest truth is I'm "OK"
Truly I am!

The deeper truth....grief is a kaleidoscope of emotions.

The color of deep sadness as I miss holding her little body, and the smell of her spit-up.  I miss the cuddle times, the frustrations of her colic, and the joy of watching her learn new things.

The color of bitter-sweet remembering as I picture her smiling and cooing.

The color of frustration as our time was so short and I didn't get the good-bye I wanted in death.  And maybe a little anger that I didn't get more time to cherish her, or that I didn't truly cherish the moments I had.

The color of guilt when I allow Satan's lies to break through God's truths and I start saying, "what if I had."  God knows I loved her as my own and there are no predictable answers for SIDS.

The color of comfort as I am lifted by the prayers of my Christian brothers and sisters.  Just the simple reminders when people call, text, or e-mail just to ask "how are you?" and "I was thinking of you."

The color of amazement as God's strength carries me through.

The color of confusion as I sometimes feel normal, because the reality is this was my world 2 months ago.

The color of hope.  Not a false, "I have to work for it" hope, but true hope that my baby is with Jesus and I will someday get to see her again.

The color of peace of knowing in part "why?"  I don't question God's plan because I knew that her life would never be easy.  I believe that there must have been some great pain in life that He saved her from.

The color of thankfulness that God has reminded me how fragile life is.  I make sure that I hold my children and husband close when they just need my nearness (even if I have a thousand things to do) and I remember to tell them "I love you!"

The color of relief as I don't have to bend my world to the ever changing schedule of a baby.

And than the color of shame when I don't feel like I am grieving the way I expected I would.

But mostly the color of deep-unchangeable loss.  When I still listen for the deep cry of my baby, or find myself walking into a room trying not to wake the baby; only to be assaulted by the emptiness of the spaces her stuff once filled.  The gut wrenching hic-cups when my husband walks into the room and my eye see only him holding something and knowing it is the time he normally would bring her to me; only to realize he never again will bring her to me in the morning when she wakes up.

So how am I doing?  I still cry when moments before I was laughing at the kids antics, but overall I am resting in the arms of my Savior, and really "I'm, OK"  That's the simple truth!