Sunday

I married a man who likes to sit in the back of church.  He likes to have an escape, whether it is from awkward conversation or sudden explosions, he believes the back is the place to be.  So I lovingly oblige him.  The only problem is that all of the beautiful active vibrant children are also found at the back of the church, and today I couldn't help but watch them. 

I starred at the little red head in front of us as she repeatedly banged her chubby hand on the metal folding chair.  Her father's hand would muffle the noise momentarily, only to be followed by a more exuberant bang.  I noticed the restless, necessary, and unsatisfying sleep of the infant beside me in her mother's arms.  I remembered the difficulty of nap times interrupted. I noticed my friend at the front of the chapel silently snatching her child before she could make it to the stairs, then to the stage, then to the organ.

I used to do these things with Jonah.  I spent 3 hours of each Sunday chasing Jonah through the halls.  I would pull out every toy in the diaper bag, in the first 10 minutes, trying to keep him busy.  He would knock over plants, lick the windows, and consistently need a diaper change.  I was always relieved and exhausted when he would finally fall asleep, his long heavy body resting in the cradle of my inadequate arms.  Even though I often wondered why I went to church with a small child, I miss those moments.  My Sundays are very different now. 

Jonah has been gone for 4 months today.  I am constantly reminded of moments that I miss, of reasons why my heart should and can continue aching.  I see him everywhere, and think about him constantly.  My prayer in this fourth month has been that my memories of Jonah can bring me more joy than pain.  I want to be able to think of him and just remember the love and happiness his life brought to mine. I can't say that I am there yet, but I feel the balance is shifting toward joy and I'm grateful for that.  I am grateful for moments when Jordan and I talk about Jonah's antics and we laugh.  We wonder what things he might be able to do now, if he were 18 months old, and still with us.  The heartache lingers around the edges of each memory.  I'm sure it always will, but there is room for light, and life.  I felt some happiness to match my heartache as I watched these sweet children. 

After a few moments, lost in memory and observation, I leaned back in my chair and looked up.  I saw the most remarkable and simple sight.  A single shiny blue balloon, hovering alone among the vaulted ceiling beams.  It was a sight only to be seen by those who looked up.  I immediately thought of Jonah.  He loved balloons and could spot them in the most unusual places.  I am grateful I looked up.   I'm grateful for a misplaced blue balloon, for Sundays, and for mostly joyful memories. 

The Blue Balloon

There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.
Albert Einstein

On October 21st my kind father-in-law, Mark, and his wife brought us this sweet blue balloon attached to a little blue pumpkin. It was such a lovely gift and reminder of Jonah.

Jonah absolutely loved balloons. At the grocery store he would spot balloons, then lean and steer Jordan over to see them. He wanted to touch them, pull on their strings, and try to taste them. We never left Harmon's without a balloon. On the day of his funeral we released 100 baby blue balloons for Jonah. I think he loved it!

To my surprise I woke up the day after the balloon arrived and it was still floating. What is the average life expectancy for a balloon? 1 or 2 days? We left town for 10 days, only to return to a perfect balloon floating high. 20 days later it was still floating. This blue balloon floated, without drooping at all, for a month!

This may seem silly to some people. Maybe you could explain it away as a fluke, amazing high float, a high quality balloon, etc... But to me it is a miracle. I think Jonah loved this gift from his Grandpa and kept his balloon floating! I like to think that he knew it would lift my spirits to see it floating and defying the odds every morning. In the end, how the balloon continued to float is irrelevant. Each day I saw the balloon I smiled, and that was a miracle.

I know that we have the opportunity to see miracles in our lives everyday. It is our choice to notice them or to explain them away. I have seen many small miracles in the past two months, and it has brought me happiness in the midst of heartbreak. This everlasting balloon is only one example, and it feels like a perfect gift from my beautiful boy, and his loving grandpa.