It was “one of those days” when, with the most wonderful of intentions, things were going unbelievable awry. My granddaughter, Torrey, was having NONE of dressing in an outfit that even remotely resembled that of her brother’s attire. Zander, two years younger at 2 or 3, was oblivious. He’d have been happy to go naked. By the time my mother and I got the two urchins dressed and ready to go to the Chama Days parade, we would have been late if we’d stopped anywhere for breakfast. So, I stuck a couple of oranges in my purse and some cookies. The wrong color oranges, I guess, and. most certainly, the wrong cookies.

But the young man walking down the parade route with snow cones had just the right flavor.  Whatever flavor the cones happened to be. And they dripped “juice” everywhere. Now, I don’t think snow cones are on the list of “healthy breakfast foods” but they kept the little ones happy, right up until they saw the balloons! These were the Mylar variety, helium-filled with shapes resembling amoeba. At $2.95 each, I could have lived with the whining and crying for a lot longer but my mom was a push-over. Two balloons were handed over while mom sorted through her billfold but, somewhere in the transaction, my mother’s multi-tasking skills flew away. So did the balloons. 

Mom made sure to hand the second purchase of balloons to me before paying an inexact amount and waiting for correct change. While I was tying one string around Zan’s wrist, mom handed the second floating wonder to Torrey. She may have held onto it for two or three minutes. Throwing her arms into the air, she exclaimed, “It wanted to be FREE!” Indeed, it must have desired freedom because it was quickly snatched by a wafting breeze and carried well beyond my reach.

I was reminded of an incident when my great-niece, Katlyn, was apprehended while trying to escape through an open window at the daycare center. We should have known, even then, that she could not be contained by any circumstance nor held for very long. 

Her parents had just purchased a new home in New Jersey when my sister and brother-in-law invited me to join them on a vacation trip to see “the kids.” And Katie asked, so long as he was there anyway, could her granddad please paint a butterfly on the wall in her bedroom? He did.  It filled half on each of two walls, centered where they met. The walls have probably been painted since then, but I wish we could have saved the butterfly. And I wish we could have kept Katlyn with us longer, too, but maybe, like Torrey’s balloon, she was meant to be free.

By the time you’ve reached my age, you have most likely said “goodbye” to your parents, maybe even a sibling, and usually quite a few friends and former classmates, but we never anticipate losing a child or grandchild. To echo the expression of the younger generations, “It’s not fair!” No, it is not, and it tries our faith beyond what we thought we could possibly endure. And you understand how someone could literally die of a broken heart. 

Hallmark has yet to come out with a card that adequately expresses how you feel and “please call if you need anything” is not nearly enough “post script” to add but you can’t put a hug inside the envelope.

My friend, Oral Cooper, left us after 91 good years; Katy was 25. No matter how often you say “goodbye,” it hurts every time, but the memories they leave behind are there for consolation.  Can you just imagine Oral hiking up the trail with a troop of Boy Scouts, the setting sun ahead of them? Her friends and family will think of Katlyn hugging each and every tree, saving every dolphin and whale. Even through the hurt of their passing, I wouldn’t have missed knowing them for the world!