Ten years ago at this time of year we had supported our mother’s decision to end treatment against ovarian cancer and enter hospice. We did not know a time frame that we would be blessed with her earthly presence and treasured every moment we had with her, every conversation, every touch, simply her presence. Ten years ago I was turning 45 years old and facing the actual reality that my mother was not going to be in my life much longer. I remember asking myself during those days “Is this really happening?”

I consider myself a nostalgic person. I am “that” kind of mom that has Christmas ornaments made from my young children saved in my Christmas stuff. I have birthday and anniversary cards tucked in my hope chest that my daughters would say, “Why did she save these?” if they have to go through my things one day. I am certainly not a hoarder (that would involve having a mess and chaos in my house and God forbid we have that haha) but there are those things I just cannot find within me to take to the garbage can just yet.

Besides holding onto those material things I tend to take and heap many occurrences in my life into my imaginary backpack and carry them along my journey in life. I would assume many have the same backpack; some lighter, some much heavier. I am very territorial about my burden I carry. I do not want to give it to anyone to carry for me and I certainly do not want to leave it behind for anyone to open up and see what I carry inside. The contents come from past and present relationships, normal day-to-day happenings, and the ever present voices and sounds from very difficult 911 calls from nearly 20 years of service in that line of work. As much as I and maybe yourself wish that rock labeled with the name of a past relationship or a difficult situation could simply be taken out of the backpack and thrown out and pretend it never happened. They are the most difficult. Struggles in our daily life may lay on the top of the pile that we can pull out and pitch. Those are the easy ones.

I trudge through life carrying my backpack just as every other person carries their own burdens through theirs. We each do it in our own unique way. I have through life looked through it and taken out heavier burdens and have been able to whittle them down so they are not so big. Some of them simply do not get easier and just like on the day of the original struggle looking at that rock; that burden it is a step back in time. I hear the pain. I hear the loss. Those voices of the 911 caller do not hang up. They fall within the backpack and take a permanent place within the empty spaces in the load upon my shoulders. Just as I said when I suffered a breakup and said, “I can’t believe this is happening” or taking a horrific 911 call whispering in my mind, “This cannot be happening,” and now looking to the 10-year anniversary of my mother’s death and the enormity of that and it truly seems just like yesterday, “Did that really happen?”