The Backpack
Sometimes love looks a lot like carrying someone’s backpack.
Some memories return without asking for permission. They don’t come back through life’s biggest moments. They return through the smallest ones.
A few days ago, I found myself thinking about Leonor when she was little. I can still picture her walking out of school with a backpack that looked far too big for her small shoulders. Many times, without saying a word, I would gently lift it off her back and carry it myself.
Back then, I never imagined it meant anything.
It was just a backpack.
As we walked home, we talked about everything and nothing. Sometimes she told me about her day. Other times, we simply sang.
We weren’t very good at it.
But there are songs that only exist when two people sing them together.
Then something happened that, at the time, felt completely ordinary. The moment I placed her backpack on my shoulders, Leonor would run ahead. She would catch up with her sister, Samanta. They laughed. They played. And I kept walking a few steps behind them, carrying that backpack.
For years, I believed I was simply carrying a bag full of schoolbooks.
Today, I think I was doing something very different.
I was giving her a few more minutes to simply be a child.
Over the years, life changed.
Today we live thousands of miles apart.
I can no longer wait for her outside school.
I can no longer walk beside her.
I can no longer hear the stories that only emerge when no one is trying too hard to ask for them.
I can no longer sing with her on the way home.
And I can no longer lift that backpack off her shoulders.
There is a confession that is difficult for me to write.
Sometimes I am afraid.
Not afraid that Leonor will stop loving me.
I am afraid that one day she might believe she no longer has me. That when life began to feel heavier than it should, the man who always tried to make it a little lighter was no longer walking beside her.
That thought breaks my heart.
Not because I believe a father can protect his child from every burden.
No father can.
But because there are burdens no child should ever feel they had to carry completely alone.
Some time ago, while talking with Samanta, she shared something I have never forgotten.
One afternoon after school, Leonor asked an adult if he could carry her backpack.
He said no.
Then she quietly replied,
“My dad always carried my backpack.”
When I heard that story, I understood something I had never seen before.
It was never about the backpack.
It was always about the message.
Without realizing it, every time I took it off her shoulders, I was saying,
“For a little while, let me carry this weight.”
Maybe that was exactly what allowed her to run again.
Over time, I have learned that love is rarely remembered through grand sacrifices.
It is remembered through the small acts of care repeated so many times that they quietly become part of who we are.
A backpack.
A song.
A bedtime story.
An unexpected phone call.
A question asked with genuine curiosity.
Our children probably won’t remember everything we did for them.
But they will never forget how they felt when they were with us.
That makes me wonder if one of a father’s deepest responsibilities is not simply to love his children.
Perhaps it is to make sure they never have to wonder whether they were deeply loved.
Today I can no longer carry Leonor’s backpack.
That season of life has passed.
But every morning I can still ask myself one question.
How can I help her carry the weight of life today, even from a distance?
When we have the opportunity to be present, we should be.
No phone call can replace a hug.
No text message can replace walking home together after school.
Presence matters.
More than we often realize.
But life has also taught me that when circumstances separate us, love does not disappear.
It simply finds new ways to reach the people it loves.
Maybe being a father is not only about being physically close.
Maybe it is also about finding new ways to remain present.
As I finish writing these words, I realize that every one of us is carrying a backpack that others cannot always see.
And I can’t help but wonder…
Is there someone in your life whose backpack you could help carry today, even if only for a little while?
Thank you for spending a moment with us.
Now go spend a moment with someone you love.