Carry Your Pain

This quote struck me, Children hand over their pain to their parents. I'd like to remember that. I think that is beautiful. Powerful. Full of opportunity. So often I absorb the pain my children experience. The pain they share with me. The pain they hand over. I quickly get to feeling overwhelmed. Inadequate. I believe it necessary to fix the pain. To abolish it. Believing that is possible.

But. Maybe. I just need to carry it for a bit rather than absorb it. Like a backpack. And I want to carry it. Offer a little reprieve. Perhaps I can carry it for a while and then set it down and leave it behind. Just as is. A lump on the trail. Out of the way so as not to trip up anyone coming up behind. Make a little marker of it. An inukshuk, which means "person substitute." A little vertical rock structure left as a marker, as a substitute person to house the pain. Isn't that what pain should be? A marker along the trail. Evidence of human life. Signalling important aspects along the way.

And. Maybe. If I get good at making inukshuks, I can teach my children how to form them. How to take the pain they feel – this formless, permeating mess – and let it pool. Let it harden, outside of ourself. To hold it in our hand and not in our heart. Then set it down. Let it go. Walk away.