Recently, my adventurous younger sister embarked on a trip of the lifetime to hike Mt. Everest. A part of my heart went with her as she carried with her an angel token engraved with my deceased son’s name. She placed his token at a prayer wall on the mountain.
My heart was also touched by the spirit of the people who helped carry her supplies on her journey. I listened in awe as she described the conditions these young men endured as they worked to provide for their families. Some carried far more than their own weight up the mountain in order to earn a living. She told of seeing very young boys in the village practicing the art of carrying supplies.
It seems these people grow stronger as they adapt to the circumstances of their lives. They seem to gradually learn to carry the weight of their burdens as they go about their daily lives.
They inspire me to do the same for myself and my family. The basket of my burden is located on the inside and is filled with my grief over the death of my son. In the beginning, my basket seemed impossible to carry and I needed the shoulders of many friends to help. I had to be patient with myself as I learned to carry the pain of this loss.
Now, I have grown stronger and I work each day to learn ways to carry my burdens. I am always aware of the contents of my basket, but it seems that each new step I take, I grow a little more accustomed to its weight.
Tags: grief, hope
