Backpack Grief
“Grief is a like a heavy backpack you never take off. You just get stronger to carry it every day.”
My husband once said to me, “Grief is a like a heavy backpack you never take off. You just get stronger to carry it every day.” He knew this reality all too well, as he had lost his older brother in an explosion in Iraq in 2006 that took not only Jared, but 2 other men as well. For me, his words poured over me with aching and as a salve, because I knew he knew the pain I felt after losing my father to his 23 year battle with cancer. For each of us that has walked the road of grief, it is never something we sign up for, but in this life, it seems inevitable. So much in western society encourages us to run away from the hard and the challenging. Suffering is not sexy and we are sold a lie that we can avoid it. However, as hard as we might try, suffering and grief will impact everyone in some way, shape or form. In my life, I have found that those who have walked the road of suffering and choose to vulnerably share their stories, offer a depth and richness to life, that is so often lost in our flashy, highlight reel, social media culture.
The holidays and the pending New Year can exacerbate the heaviness of this “backpack”. We often long for the way things were. In that moment in time, when we, heard the diagnosis, lost our loved one, or the dream, the dignity, the identity, and even the finances, something changed forever. The trajectory of how we thought our life would be changed forever. Grief allows us to hold space for what was lost and the reality that we live in between the “now and the not yet.” We ache, we long, we lament, we may even scream at God. Recently, I shared this analogy with a client who lost her husband, and these were the words she penned on Facebook:
Backpacking
“I’m quite the minimalist when it comes to my wardrobe and accessories, if two pajamas, six sweaters and one purse is considered minimal. But I’ve been handed a new accessory to wear; one I didn’t ask for or want. It’s heavy and invisible. And I’ll wear it for the rest of my life. It’s the backpack called grief. This backpack is weighty. It’s strapped tightly on my shoulders and back and I can’t make a move without it. There are times that the weight is somewhat light, and I can function close to normal, but always aware of its presence. Sometimes the weight is more than I can bear, and I collapse under the burden of it. This backpack is permanent. I cannot slip out of it or unbuckle it. It’s with me when I make coffee, when I drive the car, when I get dressed. But it’s most obvious when I get into bed and the backpack is there where he should be, wrapping me in his arms and telling me, time after time, that he loves me. This backpack is invisible. It’s there when I walk the neighborhood, when I grocery shop, when I go to church. It’s all the weight at any given time, but the people I pass don’t know. Most don’t have any idea the anguish I carry. I hate this backpack. I didn’t ask for it. But wearing it has opened my eyes to those around me, those fellow travelers who are also wearing backpacks. Perhaps theirs have the additional zippered compartments of betrayal or despair or regret. So, crushing! So impossible. And yet they carry on. WE carry on. Because the backpack is always there, but so is Hope. Hope is what holds me, backpack, and all, on the days I am crushed by the weight of it all. Hope is what carries me when the backpack threatens to pull me down. Hope is what comforts me when I can’t escape the constricting straps. Hope is right there with the grief. And that’s enough for me for today. Psalm 62:5 ‘Let all that I am wait quietly before God, for my hope is in Him.’”
To those of you that have lived with loss, I see you. We see you. You are stronger than you know, and you will become stronger each day. The perseverance produced through struggle, WILL produce a harvest in due time if we don’t give up hope.
MEET THE AUTHOR
Kristen Shoemaker MAEd, LPC, CPCS | Founder and Owner
Since 2004, Kristen has been walking alongside individuals as they begin to uncover the larger story taking place all around and inside them. Watching God use brokenness to move people toward redemption and wholeness is one of Kristen’s greatest privileges as a therapist.