More Balloons
We were at a play date in a friend’s yard the other day when said 4-year old friend ran inside and excitedly came back out with a rainbow shaped helium balloon. She almost immediately let the string slip out of her tiny hands and into the air, at first mesmerized by the balloon drifting upwards until she realized that it was not coming back down. You can imagine her reaction at this realization. The cries were hysterical, and we as mama bears immediately went into distraction and story-telling mode. Our sweet friend’s mama wrapped her up in a hug, leaned back in the grass and had her watch it float into the air. I started talking about how much joy it would bring to others as they watched this rainbow in the sky that she sent to them. Her grandmother who happened to be there as well mentioned that she knew where to find a balloon exactly like the one they just lost and that they could take a trip to pick it up that afternoon. When nothing was working to console her, we told her we would walk home to our house and try to find it in the sky over there, leaving her mom and grandmother to continue the consoling and comforting measures.
As I lay in bed that evening I thought about how visceral the balloon response was from a 4-year old and how much the adults wanted to comfort her knowing that there would be more balloons in her life, possibly even that same day. I realized that we as adults sometimes have the same visceral reactions to life events and circumstances, especially those that feel like a major loss. We may have lost a promotion, a new job, an opportunity to play a sport or go to law school, a romantic relationship, a friendship, a pet, or even a loved one. In that moment we are crushed and nothing anyone else can say or do will “fix” the situation. We often don’t want to hear platitudes like “It will all work out.” Or “It wasn’t meant to be.” Or “There is something better in store for you.” Or my least favorite as many of you know, “Everything happens for a reason.” In that moment, we often just want to be validated in our feelings of sadness and disappointment, because to us a loss feels crappy.
The older we get, the more we likely realize that some of those seemingly empty platitudes often do come to fruition. We just need time to feel our sadness or disappointment before accepting the joy that new balloons tomorrow might bring. As time passes, we generally are presented with new opportunities. Of course we cannot replace a loved one we have lost, but we can share their stories and their memories to keep us afloat.
I’ve been encouraged to incorporate more of my dad’s impact on my life into my daily living. The other day, I had the sweetest conversation with my 3-year old when following through on that assignment. She started sneezing in the car on the way to daycare. I told her it was a sunny sneeze attack and that the light from the sun often made me sneeze multiple times as well. She asked if it made her daddy sneeze a lot too. I told her that he didn’t seem to have the same affliction. In fact, it’s a disorder called a photic sneeze reflex that affects 10-35% of the population according to this PBS article. But I digress. I let her know that my daddy, her Grandpa Jack had the same condition. I told her that she didn’t get to meet her Grandpa Jack, but that she knows him through my silliness. I explained that he was a funny guy and anything I did that was goofy or silly was probably because of him and how he raised me. She then asked what he said that was funny. Leave it to the curious mind of a pre-schooler to ask for specifics. She then said “I love Jack. I miss him.”
Y’all. I fought back some tears as I said, “me too, honey. I love and miss him very much.” I thought my daughter could never know my dad. For that matter, I’ve been saddened for the past 14 years that my husband never got to meet him. But now, I’m realizing they can know him through me and through the stories I share about him. If you’re experiencing a period of loss right now, let me just say out loud that I’m sorry. That sucks. If you’re on the other side of a loss, let me remind you to remember that loss. Was it a job or promotion or school acceptance you thought you had to have in that season? Where are you now? Can you imagine what you would have missed out on if that path had worked out after all? If you’ve lost a loved one (physically, mentally, or geographically), I’m sorry. That really sucks. I would love to hear a story about them in the comments below and I’m sure others would as well. Let’s allow our loss of a balloon to brighten the sky for everyone around us.
