Celebration of Life

Recently our neighborhood experienced a tragedy. Our 16 year old neighbor, just two doors down, went missing while hiking with friends and was found dead the next day. He had fallen off some rocks by a waterfall to his death. His obituary captured him perfectly and included the following line, which I loved, "He died the way he lived- barefoot, fearless and performing." Known as "Ringo," our kids will remember him as the boy down the street who was always playing the drums outside.

I become dysfunctional when it comes to death and never know quite what to say or do. Mr. Man, always fast to just act and do without spending forever thinking like I do, suggested a way for our neighborhood to offer our support to the family. We wrote a little note and put it on everyone's door or spoke to them if they were out the evening before the funeral, or what the family was calling a "celebration of life," explaining our "plan." The next morning, Mr. Man picked up the dozens of balloons he had ordered and then the six kids I had that day and I went and tied a balloon to each boulevard tree on our street. The balloons were white with a blue string, and the plan was to have them up to celebrate our neighbor's life and then in the evening all the neighbors were to cut the balloons and let them go just as we were letting "Ringo" go. While I liked the idea, I was also concerned about how "happy" balloons were and if we may be stepping on any toes. We didn't know the family well, and I sort of just wanted to keep it pretty anonymous just in case it was unwanted. As we were putting the balloons up, the Grandfather of the boy who had passed away came up and wanted to shake hands with each of the children participating and learn their names and share his. He was quite emotional, and the sombre activity the children were helping with became even more special. As we were putting up the last balloon, the rest of the family drove up and his mother came up the street to speak with me.

She had just come from the viewing and wasn't sure how she was going to make it through the rest of the day, and then came home to a street full of life and celebration ( I wish I had taken a picture of all the balloons reaching heavenward up and down our street), and it gave her what she needed. We embraced, and both cried, for a long time. I couldn't help but notice how soft the skin on her arms was. And suddenly there was no fear in what to say or what to do, we were just two mothers. One mother who had lost a son, and another who could only imagine what that must be like. Suddenly it became all too easy to mourn with those that mourn. It was a special moment, and while it was awkward that it took a death for us to bond in this way, it was also divinely appropriate. We spoke for a time and I arranged to bring her dinner.

That evening, the family and loved ones went around and cut all the strings, at their request, while neighbors sat on their porches or in their driveways watching the balloons slowly fill the sky. It was an incredible way for our neighborhood to bond and reflect on the loss. I remembered almost too late to capture the image... and of course the pictures will never truly reflect the moment and the amazing feeling. Mr. Man was inspired. We are now known as "the balloon family" by our sweet neighbor who has lost her son and remains so amazingly strong. I feel blessed to have been part of something so lovely. And now I know, I want balloons at my celebration of life as well!