May 28, 2014

Balloons. For my daughter’s birthday over a month ago, I bought her two mylar balloons from the dollar store. One from my husband and myself, and one from my mom. That probably sounds odd, and it was exactly the balloon my mother would have picked out for her – heart-shaped with flowers in all colors of the rainbow, and script writing saying “You’re So Special!” I could tell you I felt my mother with me when I picked it out, and many people would smile and nod.

My father also bought my daughter two mylar balloons for her birthday – one from him and one from my uncle when they came to eat cake and watch her blow out her candles on her birthday.

The balloons my dad bought are, of course, deflated at this point and resting on the carpet of my bedroom. I’m not sure how all the balloons came to be in my room – I think my daughter didn’t want her brother to mess with them, so all four balloons came to be resting in a corner of my room. Three of them are deflated – the two my father bought, and the one from my husband and myself.

The balloon which my daughter considers as coming from her grandmother is still inflated. It dropped a couple inches from the ceiling a few days ago, before floating back up.

My daughter says that’s because her grandmother is holding it up there.

I don’t know what we’re going to do when it finally deflates.

My daughter told me she felt angel wings hitting her hair yesterday. Sometimes I think I do too. I still miss you, Mom. Every day.