It is once upon a time, years ago. I am a single mom of four children. The oldest, Karen, is twelve, an age at which little girls are trying to become big girls, and their parents are an embarrassment. On this particular once-upon-a-time day, the children and I are watching a local parade. Karen is as usual disapproving of and basically ignoring me. Her siblings (Maria, Powell and Missy) and I want balloons. Karen does not. She sits on the curb while the rest of us follow the balloon man.
Suddenly inspired, I buy all the balloon man’s balloons and Maria, Powell, Missy and I run to a parking lot and release them all at once. It is glorious! We watch until they soar out of sight. Then we return to Karen.
Karen is sitting glumly on the curb — elbows on knees, chin on hands. She does not look up. She announces, “I saw them. I heard someone say, ‘Look at the balloons!’ and I looked, and I saw, and I knew my mother had been there.”
Fast-forward about 10 years. Karen is now in her early 20′s. We have been shopping together and are at Chuck E Cheese. There is a balloon machine by the door, and we each get a balloon. In the parking lot Karen says, “Mom, this is for you!” and releases her balloon.
Another time at Chuck E Cheese, same era. This time I am with Maria. We get balloons — only when I put my money in, all I get was the string and plastic tie ring. So we suck up the helium meant for my balloon so we will have munchkin voices (perhaps a hint as to why Chuck E Cheese no longer has balloon machines) and take our balloons shopping with us. Mine, of course, is only a string. I dangle it proudly. We go back to Karen’s apartment, laughing hysterically. Karen is not amused.
Fast-forward several years. It is Christmas. Karen loves the color purple. If she could, she would paint the world purple. This Christmas Bill and I decide to give Karen the color purple. We spend a week shopping for purple — everything we can find from a purple pencil to a purple sweater and a purple perfume bottle. We have a pile of purple gifts. We wrap them individually and put them into a big box, which we also wrap.
Fast-forward again. What was the conversation, and how did it lead to funerals? I don’t remember. Karen informs me that when I die she is going to release balloons at my funeral. We laugh, remembering the original balloon incident and the later balloon release (which had been a huge step for Karen.)
Fast-forward. In church Karen whispered to me that she wanted “How Great Thou Art” and “It is Well With My Soul” sung at her funeral. I whispered back that I had already chosen them, and since they will be sung for me first, she will be a copycat. We laugh.
Fast-forward again. We are at a Mother/Daughter banquet, and Karen and I are chosen as part of a “newlyweds”-type game. One of her questions is, “What was your favorite gift ever? Her response, “The color purple.” I guessed it correctly. We win the game.
Fast-forward. Another whispered “argument” in church, this time that we will have Pastor Pedro, our music pastor, sing the two songs. Again, I will be first, I tell her, so she is still only a copycat. But she counters that I’ll be the only one with balloons.
Fast-forward again. Karen has found a lump in her breast. Frightened, she tells no one. She finally confides in a friend who bullies her into having a mammogram. Karen goes alone while I, still knowing nothing about the lump, babysit with her two young children. She returns sobbing. It is a large tumor. A quickly scheduled biopsy confirms that she has cancer. Stage III.
We don’t think about balloons. Or the color purple.
Fast-forward. Karen undergoes chemo, baldness, illness, radiation, victory. Her hair grows back. She has won.
Fast-forward a few months. Karen has a seizure. They discover that the breast cancer has metastasized to her brain. Radiation again. Baldness because the radiation is to her head, and they tell her that this time her hair might not return. But it does — first a Kewpie doll patch, then a Mohawk, and finally full return. Victory again. The tumor is shrinking. She has won.
A snapshot shows a radiant Karen in her purple Survivor shirt, walking the Victory Lap at the Relay for Life.
Fast-forward a short time. Karen falls. She is hospitalized. It is carcinomas meningitis. She will rally, of course. She always does.
I tell her that I am ordering purple balloons and we are carrying them into the church her first Sunday back. We laugh over what Pastor Hal will say and whether or not we will release the balloons or just hold them. I assure her she will have a standing ovation when we walk in. The church family is holding vigil in the hospital, and I know that she will indeed have a standing ovation.
Fast-forward two weeks. I order the purple balloons for when Karen comes to the church. They will be attached to a cross and released after the burial. At the funeral Pastor Pedro sings “How Great Thou Art” and ‘It Is Well With My Soul.” Karen won. People come and hug us and cry. There are so many people. A little girl announces, “Miss Karen has a purple mansion in heaven.” At the burial there is a storm and the balloons droop. After the storm, after the long gathering at Maria’s house, Bill and I return to the cemetery. The purple balloons have re-expanded and are straining to go free. We release them.
Fast-forward a few weeks to Karen’s birthday. Powell, Maria, Drew (a friend), Bill, the children and I release purple balloons. Karen’s husband Gary declines to release a balloon. But Missy releases one in Maryland at the same time, and we talk to her on the phone. We have attached notes to the balloons. The children’s notes beg Karen to come back. We watch the balloons and their notes soar toward heaven.
Fast-forward 8 months — Easter. Bill and I return to Karen’s grave for the first time since the funeral. We hold each other, weeping. Then Bill suddenly bends down and picks up something from the ground. It is a tiny purple flower that was growing on Karen’s grave. We laugh and cry together.
Fast-forward one more time. It is Karen’s birthday again. Bill and I take purple flowers to her grave. Her siblings have already been there, and the grave is covered with purple flowers. On the way we had bought one purple balloon. We release it, watching it soar toward heaven.
We watch as the balloon drifts slowly out of sight.
[NOTE: This was written the year after Karen's death. We still go to her grave each birthday and release a purple balloon.]
