Yesterday I waited in line to purchase green balloons to fly in remembrance of Quinn. The line was long; a forty minute wait to pick up my three balloons costing less than $5.00. "Did you know the family?" "What happened?" I was asked in line more than once. No, I didn't. My children did not know Quinn and I do not know his parents, but today we fly the green balloons. He was a third grade boy, the youngest of four brothers.
I tied the balloons to our lamppost this morning with Cooper in tow as he asked, "Is there going to be a parade today?"
"No, not a parade exactly..." as I bumbled and fumbled my words to try and best explain what happened to a child the same age as his beloved big brother.
"Oh, I get it. It's going to be a parade of sad people." And just like that off he went to tend to his melting snowman pile. Just like that...
How do you explain something like this? It is inexplicable to us as adults, but how do you explain to a child why a classmate suddenly passes away, or an elementary school in Connecticut so similar to their very own loses 20 students in the blink of an eye? The death of a child goes against nature, and it is simply, inexplicable.
As I finished tying the three balloons to our lamppost I noticed a small piece of string left from the red balloons we flew for Chase almost two years ago and I thought of each of the children this community has lost in the near six years we have lived here. It's too many. One is too many.
Then I intently watched my own as he played in the snow on a cloudy morning oblivious to the sadness felt today in our community.
