Explaining Death to My Son

We watched the yellow balloon float higher and higher. My son was crying those uncontrollable tears and screaming those seemingly disproportionate screams. To me, it was just a drifting $0.10 trinket from Red Robin, but to my son, watching the balloon fly away was an act of helplessness against the infinite sky.

"Don't cry. It'll be okay."
"I want it back."
"It's so high though. Look how high it is now. Even the tallest ladder couldn't reach it."
"But where will it go?"
"No one knows. We just have to watch it float away. It'll land somewhere, though. All balloons eventually land."
"Where?"
"Somewhere. We won't see it'll again, but it still exists somewhere far away."

I held his hand that, moments ago, held the ribbon of the balloon. I got vertigo watching the balloon twirl higher and higher. The ribbon, once tethered to my son, chased the balloon like a line of six ducklings following their mother.

"We can go back and get another balloon if you want."

He stayed for a few more moments watching the balloon float south.

"It's so small now. It looks like it's farther away than the clouds."
"Yeah."


~~~


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I killed a snail on accident this morning. I spread his innards a good three inches. That incident birthed this post.