Imagine

Imagine you have a backpack which is invisible to everyone but you.

Every morning when you get up, you tighten the straps on your shoulders.

Every night when you go to bed, you lay it across your chest.

No one can see it, but it's always there.

Your load waxes and wanes with each passing day, but you always carry it with you.

Even on days when the weight seems unbearable, even when it makes it difficult to get out of bed or move your feet.

As time goes on, your muscles get stronger, but the strain never eases, but you must go on.

You must go about your day as if all is fine, as if it all is easy, as if there is no heaviness cloaked around you.

You could spend hundreds of hours trying to tell someone what it is like to miss a loved one, your own flesh and blood.

But it will never be enough.