I was in the fourth grade and remember one day during the period before the last recess when Mrs Henderson gave us all a balloon, dont remember the reasoning behind the balloon gift, but I remember the balloon. Then just before recess I remember her instructing us to pop our balloon, each person, going in alphabetical order. Not sure how the students are assigned to sit in class these days but back then we were seated in alphabetical order. Having a last name that begins with “W” I was usually the last to do anything. I watched each person pop their balloon and for each pop I heard I felt sorry for the ballon that was to follow. This continued through the C’s, D’s, L’s and the Ms and then to the Vs and finally to me. By the time the balloon popping action had gotten to me I was a wreck. I spent the next 5 minutes contemplating what I was going to do with my balloon. I remember thinking how ending this balloons existence would be devastating to me. I could never bring it back. These thoughts went on in my head until the bell rang and by bell rang I mean everybody in the class screaming at me POP IT POT IT” as the bell was actually ringing. Of course I did not pop my balloon and that balloon stayed very much in existence through mid recess until I was tackled by a bunch of scalawags who then popped it. I learned several lessons that day regarding a balloon, all of which has helped me muddle through this life. I always assumed that it was that sensitive action that caused me to be gay but of course I learned later in life that it was the moment I accepted my mothers idea of wallpapering our refrigerator with yellow and green floral wallpaper that really made me gay and that was one year later when I was in the 5th grade (1972). But the truth of the matter, the lesson that I really learned that day is that I do NOT enjoy personally watching things I love come to an end. I simply don’t like watching a life come to an end. This is why I save turtles, spiders, balloons and so forth and so on. On Monday we saw the life leave out of our lil beauty and it was by far the most heart breaking experience of my life. I cannot stop thinking about her and her beautiful little face and how she quickly slipped from pain to heaven. Without a doubt, I could feel her as she eased into a much better place. Somehow that should make me feel better and in a way it does, but dammit, it still hurts SO bad. I’m not sure why I created a parallel between Olive’s death and the balloon that day, but during the last moments of being with her in this life all I could think about was that day in the fourth grade and how my balloon was not going to expire without putting up a fight for it. That balloon and I fought as hard as we could to keep it in existence just as Olive, her Daddy (most especially her sweet Daddy) and I did to keep her alive. Despite how hard we tried, her illness simply overshadowed our attempts and we simply could not allow her to have a life that was compromised. I’m far from letting her go and yes I’m sure it will get easier, but it still hurts SO BAD. I love you my sweet angel. Spread your wings and chase those balls as fast as you always have. I cannot wait for us to meet again so that I can throw the ball for you as far and as fast as I can just to watch you bring it back to me as quickly as you can so that we can start that process all over again, just as we always have and as we someday will again! My heart truly goes out to her primary care giver these past few years. Randall Miles, you are truly a Super Daddy. You were a strong daddy for her during her most needed time on Monday. You have done an amazing job with keeping her well and safe throughout her entire life but most importantly during her golden years. I am truly forever grateful for you! Thank you all for your beautiful words and your love. Its such a incredible heeling force for us!
Posted on: Wed, 08 Oct 2014 11:36:01 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015