Lost Balloons and Finding Words
“Oh no, my balloon!”
The knot tied around his wrist had loosened. Or maybe the thin string finally broke in all his fiddling with it. Regardless of how it happened, this oval, red, helium-filled ball of childhood dreams is now drifting further into the sky above the fairgrounds. It sways in a circular pattern as the subtle fall wind catches hold.
“My balloon! My balloon!”
He jumped up and down, arm stretched high, desperately trying to reach it. His cries grew more frantic and finally got the attention of his parent, who was busy pushing a stroller full of stuffed animals and half-eaten, over-priced hotdogs and $1.00 stuffed animals that cost $25 worth of tickets to win in the rigged midway games, all while carrying his baby sister who can’t ride in the stroller because it is too full of stuffed animals and half-eaten, over-priced hotdogs and $1.00 stuffed animals that cost $25 worth of tickets to win in the rigged midway games.
“My balloon! My balloon!”
“What’s wrong? Settle down and tell me what’s wrong!”
“My… bah… sniff…loon got ah…sniff… way!”
“Your balloon got away?”
“Yeeeeeeeees! And I… I… I… sniff… want it baaaaaaaack!”
“Note to self: We are never going to the fair again. Don’t cry. Don’t be sad. It’s just a balloon; it's no big deal. You can get another one some other time. Now, knock off that crying and eat the $10 hotdog you said you wanted!”
“But… it ha… sniff… has mustahhhhrd on it!”
“Ugh! You’re so needy! This is ridiculous! IT’S JUST A BALLOON! STOP CRYING! THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE FUN. GET OVER IT NOW, OR I’M TAKING AWAY SCREEN TIME FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK!”
It’s hard to be a kid.
It’s hard to be an adult.
It’s hard to know what to do when we are sad, no matter how “small” or “insignificant” the loss. We don’t know what to say or how to sit in the awkwardness of someone else’s grief, much less our own. So, we try to pacify their pain with pithy sayings, Bible verses, and promises of easy replacement. We get frustrated and impatient because they should be over it by now!
No wonder we struggle to allow ourselves and others to grieve. From an early age, society (and sometimes our closest relationships) conditions us not to.
My friend and mentor, Jon Swanson, is a wonderful human being. He has a PhD in linguistics, and more than anyone I know, Jon understands that words matter. His Substack
is one of the best resources available for anyone wanting to learn to walk differently with people in their grief than many of us are conditioned to. It is not just for professionals or caregivers; it’s for anyone who encounters grief… which is everyone.
I wonder what “balloons” I have clung too and what “balloons” I have let slip thru my fingers… it’s good to have a day of rest today to read a bit and ponder… Good to share part of it with y’all as I read your words
Wow, Brian, thanks for using an ordinary story to make an extraordinary point. And for the recommendation of your mentor!