Joy and sorrow shared

I was doing all right till I picked up the birthday balloon -- red and blue and yellow -- blazoned with Birthday Boy! A very much loved balloon that has been dragged all over the house, bounced and tossed, a bit of a Pooh balloon on the way to Eeyore.

In my mind I see a little towheaded boy with big blue eyes and a huge grin thumping his way across the floor to greet me. Or coming down the stairs in the morning with his mom, ready for breakfast, all smiles. Or holding fast to my finger, trudging across the thick green of the backyard.

What was never meant to be became a comfortable way of life. Boomerang, Shared space. Intergenerational living.

A year ago we descended into a large flat in Asia for a brief visit. Unexpectedly we fell in love with the neighborhood and the city, and the little boy blue, only to find at the end that we'd likely never return. The job that kept his dad there was gone, the expectations moved on.

Two months after that the little boy, with parents in tow, descended on my house. For a brief visit. Unexpectedly the visit turned into weeks, months, almost a year. The space stretched, the walls expanded, the noise level rose. And a rhythm and camraderie developed that was satisfying and rewarding. Everyone had roles, places, jobs, spaces. The machine ran smoothly.

And in the middle of the tornado was a little boy with huge blue eyes, growing daily.

Life happened in these months. Death came and visited and we mourned together. Held each other and handed out tissues. Worked through grief and loss and pain. Winter was long and bitterly cold. But birthdays came too and parties. Family time in huge heaps. Children in every corner. Sticky fingers, sticky cupboard knobs, and stickier floors.

I walk through the house and feel the silence.

There's a little green Fischer Price man on the bedroom floor, well chewed. A few toys scatter across the family room. Several wayward blueberries are hiding under the booster chair. How did the little fingers ever let those precious blueberries escape?

Tomorrow I'll wake and go on. Life is very full and I have promises to keep. People to see, work to accomplish, places to go. But now, before I sleep, I'll sit and count the losses and let the tears run down my cheeks.

Life is to be shared and that sharing is rich. Separation is painful and that pain runs deep. Both are there, two sides of the same coin, inextricably linked. Yet somehow the interchange is richer because we know separation will come, know we'll survive, and know we'll come together again. Another time, another city, another life.

Miles to go before we sleep.