My Grief in a Bag
by Dean Synan
I was at a grief support meeting with about sixty parents that lost their child in so many different ways. We had spent hours sharing and caring about each other. It was one of those evenings when each story would grab your soul and not let go. There were stories shared by the parent that could not be there with their child and then the parents that were there for the last breath!
These were gut wrenching, heart stopping, and unforgettable stories. In the meeting, we could see the body language and facial expressions, and each voice told a story in itself!
Then, some incredibly wise words rang out:
“Let’s pretend that you could put your grief into a bag and place it in the middle of the room. Once everyone put their bag in this mountain of grief, what bag would you trade your grief with?”
Parents sat there stunned, thinking about each story. Some parents had lost multiple children, four of five, and at different times! They thought about this and some even packed an imaginary bag and placed it in the middle of the room,sat back down, and waited for the next step.
We had time to think about each story and looked at the faces around the room. Each face held the very story they shared that evening. Everyone had blank looks as they thought about who they would trade their story with.
That evening, sixty parents walked out of that room with their own bag of grief, their own story! Not one traded their grief for another’s! Not one!
P O W E R F U L ! ! !
These were gut wrenching, heart stopping, and unforgettable stories. In the meeting, we could see the body language and facial expressions, and each voice told a story in itself!
Then, some incredibly wise words rang out:
“Let’s pretend that you could put your grief into a bag and place it in the middle of the room. Once everyone put their bag in this mountain of grief, what bag would you trade your grief with?”
Parents sat there stunned, thinking about each story. Some parents had lost multiple children, four of five, and at different times! They thought about this and some even packed an imaginary bag and placed it in the middle of the room,sat back down, and waited for the next step.
We had time to think about each story and looked at the faces around the room. Each face held the very story they shared that evening. Everyone had blank looks as they thought about who they would trade their story with.
That evening, sixty parents walked out of that room with their own bag of grief, their own story! Not one traded their grief for another’s! Not one!
P O W E R F U L ! ! !
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