GRIEF: The Grief Pack

I think I put my arms out and someone helped me get my arms through the shoulder straps, one at a time, slowly; adjusting it to the place in the center of my back where I could carry it the best.

I didn't realize its full impact until they let go of the shoulder straps. The heaviness alarmed me. It pulled on my shoulders. It threw off my sense of balance. Wearing it, carrying all this added weight, slowed me down and made me tire so much quicker. It was hard to think of anything else. It took all my concentration to carry it at first.

I would learn there were now places that would be difficult to go - places I'd often been to before, but now with this huge object on my back I wouldn't be able to slip through small places without a lot of twisting and turning and maneuvering. I would need to plan the routes of any trips I wanted to take, in advance, to avoid difficult pits in the road, steep hills that would be too hard to climb. I would need to seek flat paths with few obstacles.

I was now wearing the Grief Pack.

When I first put on the Grief Pack, it seemed a lot like wearing a cumbersome backpack. But the Grief Pack is invisible to most eyes, so although some close relatives and friends know that when it is put on and realize again when you are adding more weight to it, most people don't realize you are wearing it, have no idea how heavy it, or understand how it affects the rest of your life. And because you adjust your stride and become more careful in planning your movements through life, even those close to you may forget you are wearing it.

It's not something you can take off. It makes getting out of bed in the morning a chore. It makes sitting at the breakfast table somewhat uncomfortable. It makes working at your job or doing your chores more difficult. It makes trying to get a good night's sleep almost impossible.

The Grief Pack.
It's filled with shock and denial and loss and all the tears that don't pour out your eyes, and all the things you think but cannot say, and all the feelings you can't even find words to express. It's filled with memories of good times that will not happen again, and the voice and touch of loved ones that you won't hear or feel again. It's the things that you wish you would have done; the things you wish you could undo. It's filled with a deep longing and sorrow. It's filled with anger at life and frustration at being so powerless to change anything.

Your back aches and so do your shoulders and your neck, and even your head aches. You try to adjust the shoulder straps or shift the weight of the pack to bring some relief. But it doesn't change. It's still there.

I remember whenever it was first put on, the bewilderment and frightening feeling of something so permanent being put on my body. Against my protests and resistance, the straps were secured. Why were those around me allowing this to happen to me? Why didn't anyone help me fight against it? Why did everyone in the world continue on with their normal routines? Couldn't they see this awful pack and didn't they realize how wrong it was for it to be strapped on to someone? Wouldn't anyone intervene?

People kept getting up and going to work and about their daily tasks. Cars kept driving past me. Cash registers kept ringing up purchases for food and cleaning items and piles of useless things. Deadlines still needed to be met in business. Calls still needed to be returned. Deposits needed to be made. Bills still needed to be paid.

Eventually you become accustomed to the extra weight and bulk of it and learn how to stand and walk with it on. Sometimes it feels a little lighter as you grow to accept it as part of you - when a friend or even a stranger reaches out and puts their hand under it for a while to relieve some of the weight - as you learn how to accept the unacceptable. And you realize and begin to understand how invisible it is to others and forgive them when they accidentally bump into you and knock you off balance unknowingly.

Each time we encounter the loss of a loved one, the loss of a friend or relative, a beloved pet, the pack is opened and new weight is dropped into the pack. We have to struggle with the new burden of grief and will become aware of the weights we already are carrying with us. We'll struggle with our balance, our plans, our needs, our survival again. We'll find that the amount of weight dropped into our pack will vary with the "touchpoints" we had with the person (or pet) we've lost - what our history was with them, how important they were to our daily lives, how often we interacted with them, what their place was in our plans for the future, and, of course, how much unfinished business we had with them.

When we lose a child, I've found the weight to be almost unbearably heavy. It takes a lot more time and strength to even stand up and learn to walk again.

The Grief Pack never comes off. We simply learn how to live with it. It's something we never enjoy wearing, but we wear it because we have loved someone and lost them, and they are worth the weight of mourning and remembrance. We pull ourselves to an upright position, grabbing onto anything we can. We put one foot in front of the other and move forward. And on we go ...