Unpacking Grief

For most of her life, I often felt like Londyn and I were two totally different beings. From the minute she made her entrance into this world it became clear she was the spitting image of her dad. It didn’t take long before it became apparent they also shared many of the same personality traits. The same infectious laugh, loyal heart, a love for basketball and a legendary stubborn streak this last of which often resulted in many bouts of head-butting, neither one willing to concede to the other’s point of view. And whatever traits were not Sean’s tended to be a carbon copy of her Aunt Angie’s. In fact I used to joke that God must have a sense of humor as it seems he gifted me with the mini-me version of my sister for a daughter. But in the creating of these posts, I’m starting to discover more and more just how many similarities she and I shared as well.

     In fact as I write this, once again trying in vain to pack light for our upcoming spring break vacation, I suddenly find another memory of Londyn resurface from our last family trip to Colorado. She too was notorious for overpacking. Although I’m not proud of it, this trait she definitely picked up from me and I find myself cracking a smile as I remember how she could often be found sitting full body on top of her massive suitcase yelling for one of us to help her zip it up. And so, as we started making plans for this particular trip, I started to formulate a “pack smart” pact with Londyn. Surprisingly she was all in and we began to lay out our plans. “The weather will be mild and we won’t need a lot of fancy outfits or oversized boots to weigh us down.” “Only one light jacket and lots of layers to create different outfits”, etc. But often times even the best laid plans fall through and I once again found myself zipping up her luggage, thrift clothes from all four corners of DFW trying desperately to make their escape, while she sat on top all the while swearing she could not do without a single item carefully stuffed inside.

         Now keep in mind, this was going to be a multi-location trip involving several moments of packing and unpacking her world belongings. What could go wrong? Sure enough this was a struggle that would put our patience to the ultimate test. First in Aspen, then Breckenridge and finally Colorado Springs we “battled the bulge”. But through it all that amazing and seemingly bulletproof suitcase pulled through. Until it didn’t. It was on our last day, as we were packing up to head to the airport that her luggage started showing its first signs of weakness. It was small at first. A tiny gap in the zipper seam here, another one slowly popping up over there. “It will be fine!” Londyn promised. I protested but was out-voted. It was time to go home and nothing, not even the ominous hint of a busting suitcase was going to delay us.

      As I recall this memory I can’t help but compare this situation to my own personal grief journey. I’ve heard grief described in so many different ways. Some liken it to the waves of the ocean others to a window suddenly blown open letting the cold in with no way to close it. But for me it’s very much like this suitcase, a tear in the heart precariously held together with nothing but focus and determination. Never finding a convenient time to unpack the constant barrage of emotions, someone experiencing grief can very easily stuff it away, deep down inside, zipping it up so that on the surface one looks normal, going about their day, grabbing a movie, maybe even enjoying vacation. But on closer inspection, the truth of the situation reveals itself and it becomes apparent that one small wrong movement, one tiny breath of wind or trigger will open the flood gates.

          As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, the suitcase did not hold together. In fact it made its dramatic explosion at exactly the moment it was being checked onto the conveyer belt at the airport. As we were walking to security, a huge sigh of relief on the tip of my tongue, the dreaded words I was hoping to avoid came ringing across the large atrium “Ma’am!! Ma’am your bag is broken! Please come back!” There is nothing quite more embarrassing than having all of one’s personal items strewn about an airline conveyer belt and sure enough it was too much for Londyn who went running around a corner to sit out the situation leaving me to figure out what to do. Thankfully and by some miracle I located (and bought for no small fee) the very last extra large suitcase on display at the only tiny gift shop this side of security. We repacked, collected our daughter along the way and made it onto our plane to go home.

        This. This is grief. You can stuff and cram and try to hide it all you want but it will not be denied and eventually, often in the most inconvenient of times and places, it will make its appearance known. The more stuffing, the more dramatic the reappearance. And so I’ve learned, rather than avoid these feelings, to instead try and unpack them little by little. To meet them as much as possible when and where they present themselves. This is not to say I am able to manage grief completely on my terms. Far from it. There are still those unexpected tiny moments that catch us off guard and bring us to our knees. But a lighter suitcase is much easier to manage.

       Somehow Londyn managed to score brand new, rose-gold-colored (her favorite) luggage out of the deal that day. That new suitcase, which was destined to travel the world with her, has now become mine and I think of her every time I pack it wondering where she would have gone and lamenting the amazing adventures and sights she’ll never get to see or experience. And so I will do my best to carry this torch for her. To see as much of the world as I can in hopes that somehow maybe she is experiencing these travels with me. And each time I struggle to zip up that suitcase, I will smile because I know she is there, giving me the extra courage I need to face my feelings and unpack my grief one day at a time.