A Message of Love

From the board outside my daughter’s school with her name flashing in recognition for the leadership award she’d won, my car was drawn like a magnet to the last place I saw my other child Jenson.  His gravesite.

I sat on the ground next to his tombstone, my way in this world of being as close to him as possible, feeling torn between the dichotomies love brings your way:  the joy of seeing your child excel, the sadness of watching them stumble, the thrill of small parenthood victories like getting them to eat any vegetable, and the agony of defeat when despite every effort you can’t always shield them from the harsh realities of this world.

Jenson was only three when he passed away.  Nothing could stop the horrible disease eating away at his body.  And nothing could stop the love oozing from his soul.  A love so appreciative, so expressive, so pure that not even the nastiest of diseases could dim its glow.  He constantly expressed it through hugs, kisses, and the sweetest words of all – “I love you!”.

I remember at Jenson’s funeral just before they lowered his tombstone into the ground.  My friend Tammy gave me a tube of lipstick.  “This is so you can give him one more kiss,” my friend Tammy said.  Someone had given her a tube of lipstick also at her son’s funeral.

I replayed the memory of putting on that lipstick, kissing his casket, and marking my love for him on the most difficult of days.  The emotions of grief are always close to the surface, and they flooded back.  Emptiness.  Sadness.  Being ripped apart.  A heart so broken I wondered how it would ever heal or even keep beating.

While the memory of Jenson’s love is alive and well, in that moment yesterday I longed to FEEL it again… to experience it without the barrier of distance.

I lifted up my head and saw a red heart balloon rising from the ground 100 feet in front of me.  It seemed to appear from out of nowhere.  A red heart balloon.  I see you.  I love you.

I was so in awe, it took me a while before I realized I had to get a picture of it.  If you look closely, you can see it in the middle above the bright beam of sunlight.

Perhaps this balloon isn’t just for me.  Perhaps it’s also for you too.  A “LOVE” message from a loved one who has gone before you as we approach this Valentine’s Day.

I see you.  I love you now and always. 

Categories: Faith Family Grief Love
Tags: balloon, heart, jenson aaron, love, red balloon,

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