Sunday, May 6, 2012

Like dry bones

A cheerful heart is like good medicine. A crushed spirit is like dry bones. (Proverbs 17:22)

Pastor Brian brought a mouse skeleton to church for children's story today and talked about this verse. (For you city readers, may I clarify that we go to a very rural church and there's not a kid in the congregation who has not seen a dead mouse, deer, chicken, cow etc... and every single kid was completely fascinated by these mouse bones)
A cheerful heart. Nope, don't have one of those.

Is like good medicine. Guess I'm pretty sick, and tired, and sad, and angry.

A crushed spirit. This is an excellent analogy for exactly how I feel. Run over by a tractor. Crushed. Empty. Weak. Sad. Crushed.

Is like dry bones. Like death. There is not much useful in me it seems. I am like dry bones. Why am I even here sometimes I wonder? I am like dry bones. No nourishment or succour to anyone. Dry bones. Dry Dry Dry bones.

I don't feel like it is my choice to have a crushed spirit. I feel like it has been crushed for me. I feel like the mighty hand of God reached down and scooped me up then closed his fist and crushed me. Crushed my flesh, my bones, my organs. Crushed. Yes this is exactly right.

And now I know. A crushed spirit is like dry bones. Why am I crushed? Why am I crushed when I know of others who have gone through far worse and lost so much more but who still manage to stand firmly on the Rock, while all I can do is struggle to hang on as I slog through yet another day without my daughter.

As unencouraging as it is, this verse fits so well for me. Can I actually choose to have a cheerful heart. I know some of you dear readers, and some of you will say, yes, absolutely. Choose it now, Em. Claim it. But the reality is that even when I try to choose to be joyful the sadness and the tears come sneaking back in. How did Job praise God when all his children died? I do not know. His faith is stronger than mine.

My  faith seems like a weak shell of what it once was but, if I am honest ,it also feels alot more like a rock. Albeit a rock that has been crushed and powdered. Some days the only thing that keeps me believing in God is the hope of seeing Eva again. Just slogging through this life to get to the end of it so I can hold my darling again.

Someone asked me today if I'm enjoying the sunshine. The answer is yes. Yes ,the sun feels good on my living skin. The answer is also no. No, no, no. How can it be spring with the promise of new life when my darling, sweet baby is ashes. Ashes, ashes, ashes. How can I enjoy anything ever again? The sweetness of life is like dry bones in my mouth. Like ashes. Like death.

Someone else today asked me if there is something wrong with my eyes because I'm always wearing sunglasses in church. The answer to that is again: yes, and no. No, my eyes are healthy. Yes, there is something wrong, they are always red and leaking when I'm in church and, to be honest, as wonderful as my church family is, do I really want to be the one sitting there crying in church every.single.Sunday. I'm also tired of looking at my red eyes. They do nothing for me. My cheeks are chapped from the tears running down them all the time. I have aged 10 years since Eva died. I'm just plain tired, lonely, sad, empty, crushed, like dry bones. There simply feels like there is nothing left.

We are coming up on 9 months. 9 months of hell. With no end in sight. Sometimes I long for death to take me. Take me to Eva. But no, I don't think I'll be granted that reprieve. That fast-forward to the end. Also, I know it wouldn't be fair to all of my boys. They need a wife and mama. And, as long as I am here on earth I need them. Oh, I need them. I need their laughter, their joy, their hugs, their cuddles, their earthiness, their little bodies filled with potential and with mischief. Oh, I need them.

I usually try to wrap up my post somehow, and bring it together, but today this is all there is. A crushed spirit like dry bones.


  1. I just read this, and my heart hurts so much for you, my friend. The love...the pain. I want to give your words much more attention than I can right at this moment, but please know that I am thinking of you and your Eva and sending big hugs. Xxooo

  2. Oh Em. This is so heartwrenching. I used to be one of those people who would claim that happiness is a choice, not realising that in the wake of such devastation it is most times just too hard to make that choice. I don't like feeling this way, but when I try and feel any other way it's like I'm denying my daughter....

  3. Oh Em....I am so sorry. I wish that there was something I could say that would help you, even if it was only for a moment.

    Your grief is so "new". Everything during the first year is so so difficult. Just knowing that the one year anniversary was approaching seemed to me more difficult at times than right after my little Caleb died.

    When Caleb died I was devastated, to say the least, but I was numb too...almost like disbelief. As the first year scrapes on, reality hits and it is undescribably sad.

    I still don't wear mascara and I am almost four years into my grief journey...I still cry frequently. I have aged a lot too. My 10 year old just pointed that out to me when looking at a picture of me from just a few short years ago..."You looked so much younger in that picture mom than you do now!" I agree wholeheartedly. I feel old too.

    All of that being said, the time that has passed has made the grief softer and a lot more bearable. I am more sensitive to other people's sorrows and find myself weeping at things that wouldn't have affected me before the loss of our beloved son.

    I long for Heaven like never before. I cry in church at times even now. Just this last Sunday we had a guest speaker that spoke about how he had just taken his son Caleb fishing that week. Tore my heart up just thinking about the fact that our Caleb is no longer here.

    I have found that i just don't care as much what people think of me/about me. I have sobbed in a Dunkin Donuts over a cup of coffee and I have sobbed entering the bank that I used to take him with me know what I am talking about...the list could go on and on. Where haven't I cried? The first year was definately full of tears...cry when you feel like it and get it out. People need to know that grief just doesn't end at the funeral.

    I remember getting a root canal done shortly after Caleb died and crying in the chair. They thought I was crying over the pain of the tooth (unaware of my grief). I almost asked him to shoot the novacaine in my heart. I still tear up thinking about that. Those days were awful.

    Now the sad times usually last for a much shorter time, athough sometimes as intense as in the beginning, but they subside a lot faster.

    Remember to take deep breaths. Sounds weird...but it helped me.

    Have you read the book Holding on to Hope by Nancy Guthrie? I can send it to you if you message me your address. It was the best book that I have read and it is easy to read.

    ((hugs)) to you, my friend,

  4. Oh how our soul aches with no reprieve. What is 9 months when your daughter is dead. It feels like forever you have been without her and just yesterday she was here. Church must be hard. A family that does not mourn enough for eva. Shouldn't everyone be wearing sunglasses to church because of their sadness of her absence? It seems that no one gets the dry bones of longing and perpetual crushing gripping loss of your child. I have no desire to find the end of my life. But we have different faith. Plus your sons and husband would ve left with dry bones of losing you. Times are hard, I hope they get better. Some times are harder than others. Sending a giant hug.

  5. Oh mama, I am praying for you. I remember those days so well, they are still so fresh in my mind, and you are not alone. I spent the better part of a year and half crying through at least parts of just about every single church service. It is hard, it is just so hard, and the Lord is so good, He knows your struggles and He holds on to you when you can't hold on to Him. Trust that He will bring you through this, even if that's all you can grasp right now. Wishing you did not have to suffer through this unbearable pain. xx

  6. Oh Em. Beautiful and so sad. I'm so desperately, desperately sorry. It's so very difficult and tiring. That endless horrible slog.
    And 'crushed' is exactly the right word. I know I felt crushed after the twins were born and I felt guilty for being so crushed, for not being able to rise up. Because I crumbled utterly. I'm certainly no Job. We are all different and sometimes there isn't a nice, neat ending to wrap it all up with.
    Remembering your beautiful daughter, Eva xo

  7. Yes, Em, this resonates so clearly for me. Crushed. Dry. Brittle. Eyes constantly red. Yes. I wish I could sit with you over coffee or tea, and listen to all of your stories about Eva. I would love to hear your memories about all of her "firsts" - first smile, first laugh, etc.

    Sending lovexoxoxo