My youngest child, at two and a half, is of the age where he’s too heavy to hold, but too little to keep up with the rest of walking. When he can no longer keep up, in exasperation he tugs upon your heart strings with his deeply impassioned plea: “uppies, uppies.”
“Uppies,” means pick me up.
“Uppies,” means carry me from here on out.
“Uppies,” means carry me home.
The truth of the matter is that this never really changes. Even when we grow up and are capable of walking, all of us want “uppies,” to be picked up, to be carried from time to time. We all need “uppies,” now and again. We all need loved ones to pick us up when the darkness descends. We all need loved ones carry us home.
We need loved ones to carry us through life’s darkness.
We need loved ones to carry us through our grief.
We need loved ones to carry us back into life.
And we need loved ones to carry us onwards, after we are gone.
"Uppies, uppies,” each of us pleads in our own way. “When I am dead, promise me that you will pick me up, carry me always, carry me home.”
Carry your loved one.
Carry their essence, their teachings, their legacy.
Carry their fire and someday someone you love will carry your fire.
Carry one another through the darkness.
Carry each other home.