It’s time, my mom thought. I need to visit him. But it’s so hard.
My father, Vern, had passed away a year ago, but his presence in our lives had always been so big, it still felt as if he should be dropping by any minute. A preacher, he had long been our family’s spiritual compass. Mom called him her “bear,” and it described Dad perfectly. He was a big, beefy man—and once he made up his mind to do something, he couldn’t be stopped. When his health started failing, he was determined above all else to live long enough to celebrate his fiftieth wedding anniversary. He lived two more years after that, yet we all still missed him. Mom hadn’t been able to return to Dad’s grave since the funeral. I was glad when she told me she was finally ready now.
Mom called a dear friend to take her shopping for things to take to Dad’s grave. She bought an assortment of party balloons—and one that was special. A heart-shaped balloon with a picture of a teddy bear, over the words, “I Love You Beary Much.”
“It’s like it was made especially for Vern,” she told me.
Mom drove the eight miles to the cemetery. She tied the balloons together and leaned down to attach them to the headstone.
Just then, a gust of wind blew. The balloons were swept high into the air, and vanished out of sight.
“Well, I guess Vern wanted them up there with him,” she said to her friend. But when she related the story to me, I could hear the pain in her voice. She must have felt like she lost Dad all over again.
A few days later, however, I came to see Mom and found her smiling. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“This morning I was feeling blue, and after praying to the Lord for relief, I went for a walk outside to clear my head,” she said. “Something was stuck in the slats of the backyard fence.”
She showed me what it was. A balloon. Heart-shaped with a picture of a teddy bear, with the message, “I Love You Beary Much.” Dad’s balloon.
