Pomp Under the Circumstance

I bought a balloon today.

It wasn’t my intention to do so. It happened when I made what was supposed to be a quick trip to the grocery store for aluminum foil and oat milk.

But I bought a balloon today.

Reading those words could make it sound like a spontaneous and spirited moment. Like I was struck by the bright colors which prompted me to pick out my favorite and carry it around, carefee and jovial. Like a spur-of-the-moment whimsical treat. It wasn’t like that at all.

I bought a balloon today.

Only after encountering a small selection of them as I walked briskly down the greeting card aisle heading to the refrigerated dairy case. I stopped, retraced my steps back to the balloons, and stood there looking at each one. Examined the $4.99 price tags. Told myself this was silly. Asked myself what others would think.

I bought a balloon today.

Only after allowing the voices in my head to urge me to walk away and return. Three times, maybe four. And wonder what it would mean if I did it. Did I have the right to? Was it appropriate? Would it be a waste of money? Why did it feel so hard to leave without one?

I bought a balloon today.

Only after deciding that I would and then getting frustrated by my options. I don’t have the luxury of encouraging you to “chase your dreams.” I won’t get to witness your “bright future.” I can’t charge you with going out to “change the world.” You already did.

I bought a balloon for you today.

Or maybe I bought it for me. Maybe it was a way to add some pomp to the circumstance of not having you here. And maybe it’s ok for me to celebrate all of the maybes and might-haves of you however I want to.

So I did. And I am. And I always will.

You’re still my shining light. My heart. My class of 2020 forever.

I love you.