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They released balloons at Elizabeth's funeral. Andrea knew her daughter would have liked that. She had been enchanted when they'd done it for Grandma Eunice's funeral three years ago. "The balloons will get to Heaven, and then God will pass along our messages," Elizabeth had said with utter seriousness.
Harold's arm came around her, and he led her to the car, pulling her away from the gravesite. If left to her, Andrea would have stayed there for the rest of the afternoon, until every last particle of dirt was in place, and the grass was put down on top. She might have stayed longer, even. Maybe until her body turned to dust, and her spirit had long since departed to join her child's.
"There will be people at the house."
Andrea nodded, but didn't say anything. She just didn't have the strength to muster a reply. She had expended her last bit three nights ago, holding Elizabeth for the last time, hours before her death, as she had faded away after two years of battling leukemia. As she had watched her eight-year-old's vivacity slowly drain away over the months, Andrea's strength had naturally followed.
When they pulled into the drive of their Cape Cod-style home, Andrea was dismayed to see all the cars. She wasn't up to dealing with well wishers and grieving family members right now. "I'm going upstairs to nap."
Harold looked like he wanted to protest, but he was interrupted by his mother and stepfather bearing down on them. With one last concerned look at her, he allowed himself to be whisked away.
Managing to elude most of the gathered friends and family, Andrea went upstairs. Instead of going into the room she shared with Harold, she detoured into Elizabeth's room. Everything was pin-neat and looked unused. Elizabeth hadn't used her room for the last four months, but Andrea had kept it in order, praying for a miracle. Hoping against hope that Elizabeth would beat the cancer and go into remission. God hadn't granted that wish.
Feeling drained, Andrea stretched out across Elizabeth's twin bed, cuddling the rainbow pillow against her face. It smelled like Elizabeth's baby shampoo, even after washing. She ached for her daughter, and tears pricked the backs of her bruised blue eyes like tiny needles, but refused to fall.
She was empty inside. These past two years, Andrea had lost her identity as she had become the mother of the terminally ill child. Now that Elizabeth was gone, Andrea didn't know what to do or where to turn. She had no idea how to rebuild her life. How did she remake a life that didn't include her precious child?
"I didn't even get to say goodbye." A dry sob broke from her chest, but the tears remained solidly wedged in a sodden ball at the back of her throat. "Stupid doctor."
He had sent her home, insisting she needed rest. He hadn't expected Elizabeth's condition to worsen overnight. When it was obvious he was mistaken, the doctor waited too long to have a nurse call them. By the time Andrea and Harold arrived, it was all over. Elizabeth had died alone, all because of that doctor.
As Andrea tried to force the arrival of the healing tears that refused to fall, slowly her grainy eyes drifted shut. Eventually she slept and dreamed of Elizabeth. Her daughter's brown hair was blowing in the wind, as was the bouquet of balloons she clutched in chubby fingers. In the dream, Elizabeth was five again, before she had gotten sick. Her hair was still thick and lustrous, just like Harold's, and she hadn't lost her baby fat to chemotherapy. "See the balloons, Mommy? We'll send them to Heaven with messages for Grandma. Don't you want one?"
Andrea reached out for a balloon, but the strings were just out of reach. Each time she strained to grab one, Elizabeth slid farther away, slowly aging and growing sickly. When Andrea finally snagged the string of a blue balloon, Elizabeth disappeared. The balloons she had been holding floated out of reach, up into the sky, as if seeking Heaven.
She awoke with a gasp. Looking through the open blind, Andrea could see it was early evening. She sat up slowly, trying to shake off the last tendrils of the dream world. Elizabeth's words danced through her head. "Don't you want a balloon, Mommy?"
Andrea stood up and smoothed her dark dress. Taking a deep breath, after casting one more look around Elizabeth's room, she opened the door and went downstairs. To her relief, everyone was gone. Harold sat in the living room, in the dark. When she clicked on the light, he looked up, rapidly blinking his eyes.
His grief hung on him heavily, but he still managed to force a smile. "How are you feeling, darling?"
"I want to buy a balloon." Andrea frowned as the words came from her mouth. Why would she want to do that? Had the dream affected her more than she had realized?
She saw the question of why mirrored in Harold's eyes, but he didn't dispute her reasons or refuse her strange request. "Mom brought a few back from the funeral, if one of those will work?"
She felt wounded that his mother would wantonly steal Elizabeth's balloons.
As if reading her thoughts, Harold continued, "She thought you might want a few to preserve."
"As a memento?" Andrea's voice was harsher than she had intended. Sighing, she shook her head. "Where are they?"
"In the laundry room."
Andrea walked through the pristine kitchen, idly noticing someone had cleaned up behind the feast of the mourners. When she entered the laundry room, the sight of the four balloons assaulted her, sending a sharp pain through her chest. The ever-present tears threatened to fall, but they retreated at the last moment.
Hesitantly, Andrea reached for the ribbon of the nearest balloon-a bright blue one. When nothing happened, although she didn't know what she'd been expecting, Andrea took the other three balloons and walked out onto the sun porch.
The sun had set over an hour ago, and a nearly full moon hung in the sky. The stars twinkled merrily, and Andrea irrationally wished them to wink out of existence. What right did they have to be up in the velvety night sky when her daughter was lying under six feet of earth?
Feeling foolish, Andrea removed the pink balloon from the bunch and brought it to her mouth. She whispered, "This is for all the years you should have had." With a kiss, she released the balloon, watching it float straight up.
The green balloon came next. "This is for all the things you've missed. Your prom, graduation, getting married, and having b-babies." Her voice broke on the last word. With another brief kiss, Andrea let the balloon float upwards.
The next balloon was an entirely too-happy shade of yellow. "This is for the happiness that should have been yours these past few years." She kissed it and let go of the string, watching it bob along drunkenly as it slowly climbed upwards.
The blue balloon beckoned to her. Andrea held it close to her mouth, preparing to whisper her last message, wondering what she should say. The words came as if on autopilot. "This is goodbye." When she released the white ribbon, the balloon shot up so fast it passed right by the yellow balloon, then the green, and soon caught up with the pink balloon. Andrea watched the balloons until they got so far away that she couldn't see them in the twilight. Finally, she went inside as tears broke free from her eyes and streamed down her face.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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