Balloon Despair

As I opened the door of the little community center following my friend's baby shower, I was bombarded by the tormented howls of my 3 year old boy, running towards me from the parking lot.  Thinking that he may have fallen and hurt himself on the way out to the car, I exclaimed "What happened, what's going on?" to the older children.

Little Ben, with tears rolling down his cheeks, blubbered tragically: "My ba-woon... it's gone!" and pointed to the sky at a rapidly disappearing green helium balloon on a yellow ribbon.  Relief filled my heart that there was no injury; no scrapes or bruises, yet I couldn't help but sympathize at the heart-felt innocence with which my son continued to mourn, his little finger pointing and his eyes wide with terror at the tiny speck that faded into the clouds, far above the city sky-line.

Instinctively, I knelt down, holding him close and tried to ease his suffering and sorrow.  I told him that the balloon was going on a journey, way high in the sky, and that it was having an adventure in the clouds. 

"But it's gone!" he protested, as I tugged his little hand and moved him towards the waiting van.  The tears still poured down, and unreasonable, over-tired protesting manifested itself.

"Maybe someone can share their balloon with you!" I suggested, hoping to offset the tragedy and distract him.  "And we have lots of candy in the van from the pinata!" I bribed.

Thankfully, one of my older children took pity upon their younger brother and offered their balloon to him.  I commanded the children to hang tight to each of their strings as we loaded everyone up, bucked them and shut everyone (and every balloon) safely inside.

Driving down the freeway a short time later, the cutest words ever came out of my 3 year old's mouth:

"Mommy," he asked, "Can we go to the airport and get in a plane and find my ba-woon?"

Awwww!!! My heart melted at his ingenious, yet impossible plan.  Sadly, I had to explain that the "ba-woon" was too far away and we wouldn't be able to find it - not to mention the exorbitant cost of chartering a jet (or helicopter) and taking off on a futile mission such as this.

Oh to be young and have the most tragic occasion be the loss of a party balloon.  The pain is great and traumatic in nature, bursting forth with wailing and despair - but can be remedied by the simplest of gestures - a sharing sibling or a bright yellow lollipop.  If only it were so easy.

I don't have a heartwarming parable or creative quip to share along with the imagery of a balloon sailing beyond reach.  Frankly, I'm at a loss to bring closure to the vivid picture that is a comparable depiction of my own life at times - hope drifting far beyond grasp.   And I know that I'm not the only one who struggles with hope and despair; success and failure; good days and bad.  Sometimes life is beyond control.  Sometimes (sorry to burst your bubble) BAD THINGS HAPPEN.  And worst of all, there are times when we feel powerless to fix it.

I take heart in the only thing that is sure and true.  God's mercies are new every morning.  He is faithful.   He is the most secure, most real, most true part of my life. (Lam. 3:22)  

For the mountains shall depart And the hills be removed, But My kindness shall not depart from you, Nor shall My covenant of peace be removed," Says the Lord, who has mercy on you.  "O you afflicted one, Tossed with tempest, and not comforted... In righteousness you shall be established; You shall be far from oppression, for you shall not fear; And from terror, for it shall not come near you. (Isaiah 54:10, 11& 14)

Good Grief

On Saturday, I was away at the beautiful Chateau Lake Louise, surrounded by the beautiful Rocky Mountains and hundreds of beautiful ladies.  Yet, in the evening as we sang songs that lifted up praise to the Lord and rejoiced in His goodness, a wave of grief struck the core of my being.  It wasn't unexpected, really.  In fact, Saturday was exactly 4 years to the day that I was told I had lost a baby, and that my pregnancy had ceased.

I'm not one to be sentimental about many things - I try not to hang onto trinkets and Christmas cards and I even tossed out my wedding bouquet a few years back because it looked like a heap of dead yellow flowers and really held little resemblance to the emblem of love and life that it used to be!  Yet there is something sacred about revisiting the memories of that fateful day of my loss, as I seek to uphold the image and value of a child I never knew. I find a sense of comfort in the painful ritual of brooding over the details and vivid images etched in my mind.  It's not that I want to contemplate the negative, but I know of no other way to commemorate the life of my baby, having little information to cling to, other than grief.

I have a special song I like to listen to, that deals with the pain of losing a baby.  (Glory Baby by Watermark) It lifts my eyes heavenward, knowing that the Father loves and protects my baby now; knowing that my little one is in a place that experiences no pain, regret or sadness.  I've made a habit of spending some time in prayer, and asking Jesus to hug my little girl, and let her know that I can't wait to meet her.  I have learned to grieve, and I know that grief is a tool that leads to healing.  Without these moments where I give myself the freedom to cry, I know bitterness would take root and my heart would be hardened.  It hurts to love, and it's harder still to have lost one whom you loved; but as the old adage claims:


I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

(Alfred Lord Tennyson,  In Memoriam:27, 1850)

Life holds many seasons for us as frail and imperfect humans.   We are all exposed to numerous peaks and valleys of varying degree as we walk through life.  Yesterday, as I was walking to the gym, I was revived by the sense and signs of spring that were abundantly present.  The grass is becoming green, tulips and daffodils are poking up out of the dirt, and the ever-present chirp of robins seems to be ushering in the warmth and growth of new life.

Grief can be a winter in our lives, that seems to seep it's deathly chill deep down into our hopes and dreams.  It can be hard to recover from loss, and often times you feel so numb that you can not imagine how life will ever seem normal and healthy again.  When I was once stuck in that murky fog, I had very few anchors.  The obvious anchor was my family and friends who upheld me and surrounded me in their love.  The other was a root of indescribable hope in God's love.  It's not that I was feeling very loved by Him at the time, and many questions rose up in accusation against Him.  Yet, deep deep down, in the depths of my heart, I knew He was real and that He loved me.  I can't claim to understand the reasons for pain and suffering, but I have learned that I can always trust Him.

I'm glad it's May.  I'm excited about gardening and little buds that burst into vivid green leaves, filling the vast mosaic that was previously overridden by dismal greys and browns.  There is hope anew.  There are new joys to behold.  I was broken and shattered, and felt like a barren tree blasted by winter's cruelty.  Yet my tears have watered the soil of my heart and I've received "beauty for ashes, The oil of joy for mourning, The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;" (Isaiah 61:3)  From the midst of my sorrows, the ones whom I love have become all the more precious to me, and I cherish each day with them as a immeasurable gift.

This is just how I feel...

My heart is so soft now I think I could almost describe it as squishy. Ha ha... and maybe a little bit broken, too.
I have a heightened awareness of how precious my kids are. I find myself almost wanting to wake them up at night; I'll be overcome by a panic attack, feeling like I didn't love them enough while they were awake.
I just want to get on with my life, but I also feel horrible and don't want to ever forget about my sweety that will never walk on this side of life. I'm trying to picture heaven and wonder what life is like for my baby there.
Right now, the positive thing that I can be thankful for is how much more I love my kids and husband. I'm thankful for a heart that is sensitive to life around me and that I find it so much more precious now.
Yet I'm finding life a lot more exhausting right now. I don't want to keep thinking or writing about anything else right now because it hurts too much.

Saying Goodbye

(After a weekend of bleeding, yesterday in the hospital, I found out that I had lost my baby. I was nine weeks pregnant. I'm trying to sort out my feelings a little.)

Sadness...
I'm saying good-bye to someone I never knew.

I'm not ready to ask God "why?"

My heart is comforted by the little warm bodies that come and visit me in bed as I rest and recover. I'm so thankful for my healthy, perfect children.

I've been crying off and on all day.

Jesus, could you give my baby one kiss from Mommy? Please hold my baby close for a while and I will one day be there to hug and hold my little one.