When someone tells me I’m ‘looking good’ or ‘doing well’, it is meant as an encouragement. And I casually wonder, is that on the “regular” scale? Or the all-things-considering-we-have-lowered-our-standards scale?

And then a part of me feels guilty. Thinking, we shouldn’t be doing good. I am NOT okay. I am barely held together with sticks and glue and at any moment I might fall apart.

My kids are here, and clothed, and fed; and I am here, and clothed, and mostly fed. By the grace of God we got out of bed this morning, but if we were left to our own schemes that may not be the case. Yet we lace up our strong boots and put on our brave faces over and over again.

And so many times in our day we are blessed because of those painfully hard and deliberate decisions. And so I can’t regret being strong and choosing life. But I wonder at the balance of authenticity. How can you marry genuineness and perseverance? Can you be real, without baring all you pain? Is it possible to even function while fully embracing your devastation?

Loss is a personal journey that can feel like a public theatre. And for a woman who has always had a plan, I am having to endure constant uncharted territory.

If death is the ultimate equalizer, then grief is the warm-up.

We have survived 2 months.

Living that contradiction of ‘like yesterday’ but ‘like eternity’.

As we celebrate Emmett’s actual birthday today, I am reminded of so many “firsts” that we have walked through in that time. Big ones, like an anniversary, two birthdays, first days of school; and littler ones, like grocery shopping, doctor appointments, sleeping alone.

It has been a steep learning curve. With the tragic, the mundane, and especially this beast we call grief. And as I hear another song, and read another poem or meme about how suffering brings about character development or personal beauty; I want to be clear that I would trade ALL that, everything I own, even my life to undo what happened two months ago. Without hesitation.

I think there is this misunderstanding that if we believe in life after physical death, then we can embrace suffering. That there is this greater purpose and one day we will understand why. But I am convinced that there is a flaw in that thinking. From my first memory of the accident until now, I have never asked why. I know why. When you exist in a world that wants to live independently from the One who created it, things like this will happen. There is no mystery. Do I think that God believed my boys would be better off without their father, I needed a new husband, I should not be a mother to Madeline, my boys shouldn’t have a sister? Absolutely not. But this is not a reflection on who He is, but rather on the state of man.

He is the same God today as he was 3 months ago when I said to Colin, “ My life is perfect.” He was sovereign then, He still is now. He was good then, He still is now.

I don’t believe that I will ever stand here and say, “I get it now. I understand why this had to happen.” But I will, and can say, “I trust You. I know You are big enough to fill in the gaps. I know You will have us covered. I know You love me.

I know we can turn surviving into thriving.