My Yellow Balloon
My first parade was an extraordinary experience. The memory shall be forever etched in my mind; hundreds of people lining the streets with an array of colors streaming from their clothing. The sky was blue and sounds of the familiar song, "I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy" blared from the ends of the flutes that passed by. Vendors paced up and down the crowd selling novelty items and balloons. A rainbow of vivid colors; red, orange yellow, green, blue, and purple passed me by. The yellow balloon was as bright as the sun that shone in the sky that very day.
I jumped up and down like a Mexican jumping bean as I pleaded with my parents to buy that amazing object. The parade continued to pass by however my eyes remained fixed upon it still. My first balloon! What a joy! It was mine. I held the string tightly in my grasp. My body rushed with excitement as the yellow balloon and I became one; just as a married couple. On that day of my first parade I not only experienced joy and excitement, ironically I experienced pain and sadness as well; the moment my balloon escaped my grasp. Tears welled up in my eyes and flowed down my cheeks like water escaping from a dripping faucet. My balloon and I were now separated by the wide open sky; unable to ever be one again.
Many balloons have entered my life as well as many people. I eventually became one with a wonderful man. His eyes were as blue as the sky and his heart radiated like a long ray of bright sunshine through the clouds from an early morning sunrise. His laughter; like a familiar song; one that catches your attention and remains in your mind all day long. And his smile; a warm fire on a cold winters night. Unfortunately every fire eventually burns out. The warmth of the fire escapes as well turning the night cold and dark. March 2, 2003 was in fact a cold dark night in our lives.
The night was cold however the walls of my own home were even draftier than the air outside. Fear, worry and discontentment swirled in my head and my heart like a tornado. Something was desperately wrong. His smile was gone. My forehead muscles were tight as well as those around my mouth. Nothing felt right. My husband had relapsed after being clean and sober for five years. The monster had been awakened. Blood rushed up and down my body like a flowing river with a strong current as he came and went periodically throughout that night. With his every return back home his mood escalating with rage and anger then plummeted with tears as he begged for forgiveness. Was I to blame for this? Had my relapse several months ago caused him to pick up again? These questions permeated my brain like a sponge soaked in water. I tried to reason with him. I begged him to just stay home. The drugs were the only voice he was listening to. I was on mute. Nothing I could do or say would quiet the monster. I felt his pain. Familiar with the power of this enemy I had to surrender and put my year and a half old son to bed. "I love you Bruce" I said as he walked out the door. "I am not angry". I watched his truck pull out of the driveway. The night was dark and the tail lights faded like a setting sun as he drove away.
The night was cold however the walls of my own home were even draftier than the air outside. Fear, worry and discontentment swirled in my head and my heart like a tornado. Something was desperately wrong. His smile was gone. My forehead muscles were tight as well as those around my mouth. Nothing felt right. My husband had relapsed after being clean and sober for five years. The monster had been awakened. Blood rushed up and down my body like a flowing river with a strong current as he came and went periodically throughout that night. With his every return back home his mood escalating with rage and anger then plummeted with tears as he begged for forgiveness. Was I to blame for this? Had my relapse several months ago caused him to pick up again? These questions permeated my brain like a sponge soaked in water. I tried to reason with him. I begged him to just stay home. The drugs were the only voice he was listening to. I was on mute. Nothing I could do or say would quiet the monster. I felt his pain. Familiar with the power of this enemy I had to surrender and put my year and a half old son to bed. "I love you Bruce" I said as he walked out the door. "I am not angry". I watched his truck pull out of the driveway. The night was dark and the tail lights faded like a setting sun as he drove away.
In the morning I awoke to the sounds of my son stirring beside me. I picked him up and headed for the bathroom to change his soggy diaper. The bathroom door was slightly closed. I pushed it open to find his gray toes emerging from the Burgundy tile wall to my right. Immediately a feeling of complete emptiness encompassed my entire being. The bathroom floor a sheet of ice beneath my feet. I was unable to speak and unable to hear anything around me. I walked towards him without even telling my feet to move. My son had gone over to sit on his chest. "Daddy" he said. The gurgling sound like that of the last water to descend down the drain once it is released from an emptying sink. I panic and try to revive him using mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Nothing is working. I am too late, he is gone. My husband lying is on his back is lifeless in his blue and green plaid flannel pajama pants and gray shirt. He had become that yellow balloon I could still see in the sky; separated by this enormous space that prevented me from ever having it firmly in my grasp again.
With everything we lose there is pain. The loss of a husband and a father has not been easy on either of us. It has been almost eight years since his passing. Not one single day has passed that I have awoke and my first thought be of my husband lying lifeless on the bathroom floor. The image is so vivid. His body lying on that cold, burgundy tile floor with that blank stare on his face. I feel the anger and resentment. I want to scream and yell at him for leaving my son and me. The image fades and the feelings diminish only to have the entire scenario repeat itself the following morning. I attended countless grieving groups as well as counseling however nothing has ever been able to erase that image. I have developed coping skills and learned about the stages of the grieving process. My son and I have had our struggles. The holidays for example are filled with bright lights, joy and happiness however something is always missing. What do you tell a child who is crying when he is in pain because his school is holding a father/son luncheon in honor of Father’s Day? How do you ease the mind of your child who fears losing his mothers just as he lost his father? Or what do you say when your child says, “why us Mom, why did this have to happen to us”?
It is amazing how losing something can impact our lives on many different levels. My son and I have learned that we have to walk through the pain. In order for us to find the gains from our loss we have had to face our struggles. Over the years my son has come to realize that a mother can be a father also. Together we have learned to talk about our fears and face the challenges as they come into our lives. Our frequent visits to the cemetery seem to initiate conversation about the man we both love and miss. We sit and we talk. I tell my son stories about his dad and we laugh and we cry as well. We can share our emotions with each other and truly respect each others feelings. We have been able to find comfort and healing in one another. Several recent incidents symbolize our ability to find comfort and healing as well as exemplify our gains.
Up until a few weeks ago Colby has never known the true cause of his father’s death. I returned home one evening last week from a meeting to find my son waiting at the door. As I entered the kitchen his face was pale and his expression was blank. “Can we talk?” he asked. As we walked upstairs together I was filled with an uneasy feeling, my son was struggling. Upon entering my room he explains that he read my essay. Unintentionally I left the first draft of my essay on the computer. Without another word exchanged we begin to embrace one another and cry. Tears seem to flow endlessly as well as the hours that followed filled with deep conversation. My son has learned to communicate, feel and express his emotions. He has truly become a strong nine year old boy with the understanding and the ability to walk through his fears. We discuss the reality and the power of addiction. We discuss my past and my recovery as well. We both have entered into another level of healing together and although the pain exists; the truth has set us free.
On the day that followed my son and I decide to go to the store. On the way we are both smiling. My son’s eyes are filled with excitement as if we are going to buy his favorite video game instead we are buying a yellow balloon. The music on the radio plays as we both sing along exchanging glances back and forth; smiles on our faces. As we approach the cemetery my son turns off the radio and says, “Mom I love you and thank you for being real”. I turn and thank him. We walk over to the gravestone with our yellow balloon firmly in our grasp. Together we count one, two, and three…..voluntarily we release the string as our yellow balloon dances, floating peacefully into the wide open sky. We embrace one another and we feel the joy in knowing how much we have truly gained especially in the past few days.
As for me and my own self-discovery; I am free from the morning image that has haunted my mind for so very long. In writing and finding a new perspective on my loss I have found an inner peace. I feel free. Everything we have gained from our loss has enhanced our relationship with one another as well as with others. My son and I will always encounter struggles however today I feel just like that yellow balloon dancing in the sky.
My Yellow Balloon
My first parade was an extraordinary experience. The memory shall be forever etched in my mind; hundreds of people lining the streets with an array of colors streaming from their clothing. The sky was blue and sounds of the familiar song, "I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy" blared from the ends of the flutes that passed by. Vendors paced up and down the crowd selling novelty items and balloons. A rainbow of vivid colors; red, orange yellow, green, blue, and purple passed me by. The yellow balloon was as bright as the sun that shone in the sky that very day.
I jumped up and down like a Mexican jumping bean as I pleaded with my parents to buy that amazing object. The parade continued to pass by however my eyes remained fixed upon it still. My first balloon! What a joy! It was mine. I held the string tightly in my grasp. My body rushed with excitement as the yellow balloon and I became one; just as a married couple. On that day of my first parade I not only experienced joy and excitement, ironically I experienced pain and sadness as well; the moment my balloon escaped my grasp. Tears welled up in my eyes and flowed down my cheeks like water escaping from a dripping faucet. My balloon and I were now separated by the wide open sky; unable to ever be one again.
Many balloons have entered my life as well as many people. I eventually became one with a wonderful man. His eyes were as blue as the sky and his heart radiated like a long ray of bright sunshine through the clouds from an early morning sunrise. His laughter; like a familiar song; one that catches your attention and remains in your mind all day long. And his smile; a warm fire on a cold winters night. Unfortunately every fire eventually burns out. The warmth of the fire escapes as well turning the night cold and dark. March 2, 2003 was in fact a cold dark night in our lives.
The night was cold however the walls of my own home were even draftier than the air outside. Fear, worry and discontentment swirled in my head and my heart like a tornado. Something was desperately wrong. His smile was gone. My forehead muscles were tight as well as those around my mouth. Nothing felt right. My husband had relapsed after being clean and sober for five years. The monster had been awakened. Blood rushed up and down my body like a flowing river with a strong current as he came and went periodically throughout that night. With his every return back home his mood escalating with rage and anger then plummeted with tears as he begged for forgiveness. Was I to blame for this? Had my relapse several months ago caused him to pick up again? These questions permeated my brain like a sponge soaked in water. I tried to reason with him. I begged him to just stay home. The drugs were the only voice he was listening to. I was on mute. Nothing I could do or say would quiet the monster. I felt his pain. Familiar with the power of this enemy I had to surrender and put my year and a half old son to bed. "I love you Bruce" I said as he walked out the door. "I am not angry". I watched his truck pull out of the driveway. The night was dark and the tail lights faded like a setting sun as he drove away.
The night was cold however the walls of my own home were even draftier than the air outside. Fear, worry and discontentment swirled in my head and my heart like a tornado. Something was desperately wrong. His smile was gone. My forehead muscles were tight as well as those around my mouth. Nothing felt right. My husband had relapsed after being clean and sober for five years. The monster had been awakened. Blood rushed up and down my body like a flowing river with a strong current as he came and went periodically throughout that night. With his every return back home his mood escalating with rage and anger then plummeted with tears as he begged for forgiveness. Was I to blame for this? Had my relapse several months ago caused him to pick up again? These questions permeated my brain like a sponge soaked in water. I tried to reason with him. I begged him to just stay home. The drugs were the only voice he was listening to. I was on mute. Nothing I could do or say would quiet the monster. I felt his pain. Familiar with the power of this enemy I had to surrender and put my year and a half old son to bed. "I love you Bruce" I said as he walked out the door. "I am not angry". I watched his truck pull out of the driveway. The night was dark and the tail lights faded like a setting sun as he drove away.
In the morning I awoke to the sounds of my son stirring beside me. I picked him up and headed for the bathroom to change his soggy diaper. The bathroom door was slightly closed. I pushed it open to find his gray toes emerging from the Burgundy tile wall to my right. Immediately a feeling of complete emptiness encompassed my entire being. The bathroom floor a sheet of ice beneath my feet. I was unable to speak and unable to hear anything around me. I walked towards him without even telling my feet to move. My son had gone over to sit on his chest. "Daddy" he said. The gurgling sound like that of the last water to descend down the drain once it is released from an emptying sink. I panic and try to revive him using mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Nothing is working. I am too late, he is gone. My husband lying is on his back is lifeless in his blue and green plaid flannel pajama pants and gray shirt. He had become that yellow balloon I could still see in the sky; separated by this enormous space that prevented me from ever having it firmly in my grasp again.
With everything we lose there is pain. The loss of a husband and a father has not been easy on either of us. It has been almost eight years since his passing. Not one single day has passed that I have awoke and my first thought be of my husband lying lifeless on the bathroom floor. The image is so vivid. His body lying on that cold, burgundy tile floor with that blank stare on his face. I feel the anger and resentment. I want to scream and yell at him for leaving my son and me. The image fades and the feelings diminish only to have the entire scenario repeat itself the following morning. I attended countless grieving groups as well as counseling however nothing has ever been able to erase that image. I have developed coping skills and learned about the stages of the grieving process. My son and I have had our struggles. The holidays for example are filled with bright lights, joy and happiness however something is always missing. What do you tell a child who is crying when he is in pain because his school is holding a father/son luncheon in honor of Father’s Day? How do you ease the mind of your child who fears losing his mothers just as he lost his father? Or what do you say when your child says, “why us Mom, why did this have to happen to us”?
It is amazing how losing something can impact our lives on many different levels. My son and I have learned that we have to walk through the pain. In order for us to find the gains from our loss we have had to face our struggles. Over the years my son has come to realize that a mother can be a father also. Together we have learned to talk about our fears and face the challenges as they come into our lives. Our frequent visits to the cemetery seem to initiate conversation about the man we both love and miss. We sit and we talk. I tell my son stories about his dad and we laugh and we cry as well. We can share our emotions with each other and truly respect each others feelings. We have been able to find comfort and healing in one another. Several recent incidents symbolize our ability to find comfort and healing as well as exemplify our gains.
Up until a few weeks ago Colby has never known the true cause of his father’s death. I returned home one evening last week from a meeting to find my son waiting at the door. As I entered the kitchen his face was pale and his expression was blank. “Can we talk?” he asked. As we walked upstairs together I was filled with an uneasy feeling, my son was struggling. Upon entering my room he explains that he read my essay. Unintentionally I left the first draft of my essay on the computer. Without another word exchanged we begin to embrace one another and cry. Tears seem to flow endlessly as well as the hours that followed filled with deep conversation. My son has learned to communicate, feel and express his emotions. He has truly become a strong nine year old boy with the understanding and the ability to walk through his fears. We discuss the reality and the power of addiction. We discuss my past and my recovery as well. We both have entered into another level of healing together and although the pain exists; the truth has set us free.
On the day that followed my son and I decide to go to the store. On the way we are both smiling. My son’s eyes are filled with excitement as if we are going to buy his favorite video game instead we are buying a yellow balloon. The music on the radio plays as we both sing along exchanging glances back and forth; smiles on our faces. As we approach the cemetery my son turns off the radio and says, “Mom I love you and thank you for being real”. I turn and thank him. We walk over to the gravestone with our yellow balloon firmly in our grasp. Together we count one, two, and three…..voluntarily we release the string as our yellow balloon dances, floating peacefully into the wide open sky. We embrace one another and we feel the joy in knowing how much we have truly gained especially in the past few days.
As for me and my own self-discovery; I am free from the morning image that has haunted my mind for so very long. In writing and finding a new perspective on my loss I have found an inner peace. I feel free. Everything we have gained from our loss has enhanced our relationship with one another as well as with others. My son and I will always encounter struggles however today I feel just like that yellow balloon dancing in the sky.
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