Blown away by the wind

The child was happy. Well, at least by her own definition she was happy. The child was at that stage where she knew happy, she knew sad, and even though she didn’t know the word for it, she also knew frustrated. She manifested happy with lots of smiles and giggles, sad with crying, and frustration with lots of noise usually ending in a request for help. That day, at that particular moment in time, the child’s eyes were open wide, sparkling with amusement, and the smile displayed on her face showed nothing but pure glee. Happy.

She was holding a balloon, and she kept looking up at it every few seconds just to confirm that it was still where she had seen it last. At the end of a string almost as long as her, fluttering in the wind.

“Balloon” she said to a couple walking past, once again confirming what was obvious to every passerby. She couldn’t help it, she had to tell everyone about her beautiful balloon. It was endearing, and for most people it made them smile in appreciation at how something so little and so simple could be such a great source of happiness.

It was a cherry red balloon. For the child though, it was a red balloon. She didn’t yet know how to distinguish between the different nuances of colour. But were she of an age where this distinction could be made, she would have observed its bright candy redness. For now though, she knew it was a red balloon, and it was hers.

“My balloon. Isn’t it?” she said

“Yes, it is darling. It’s your red balloon.” Her mother replied.

“My balloon. Red.” The child said.

It was a bright sunny day. The kind of day that made you happy just to be alive. Where the promise of things to come, good things to come, seemed more than possible. It seemed certain. Even though a slight wind had picked up, it offered some coolness to the heat provided by the big star in the sky.

“Windy mommy. It’s windy isn’t it?” The child said.

“Yes, it is. You make sure you hang on tight to the balloon or it will fly away.” The mother said.

“Fly. Birdies fly.” The child said.

“Yes, they do. Birdies fly high up in the sky.”

And that last comment from her mother made the child think about the wind and the balloon flying high up in the sky like the birds. And then she was worried. She looked at her balloon with a quizzical look on her face almost as if imagining it flying away from her but also questioning how could that possibly be. After all, the balloon was hers. And if the balloon was hers it would forever stay with her. It would never go away. She looked at the long string attached to her hand following its upward course all the way to the balloon and back down again.

The loop at the end of the string which snaked itself around her wrist was somewhat uncomfortable. Too tight. And in her own little logic - which has to be said it was pretty straight forward most of the time - she thought if she could hold the string rather than having it around her wrist the pain would go away. No child likes to be in pain or even mildly discomforted. In a child’s mind things are clearer. Easier. Unlike us adults, who will, a lot of the time, put up with a lot of things and discomforts and bad attitudes and such, in a child’s eye, there’s no reasoning behind that sort of attitude or manner of being. If something is not right, or even if it doesn’t feel right, a solution has to be found and immediately acted upon. And this is exactly what the child proceeded to do. The child unlooped the loop and held the string tight in her little fingers. After all she didn’t want her balloon to fly away like the birdies high up in the sky. She wanted to take it home with her so she could show it to her most prized possession. A very tired looking teddy by the name of Amelia.

But then the unthinkable happened.  The child tripped.  No one knows how the child came to trip. No witnesses came forward to report on the unfortunate incident. To this day not even her mother knows how the child came to trip. It simply happened in a way that things happen to small children. She simply tripped. And in tripping all thoughts of safety regarding her precious balloon, vanished and she let go of the string. It was an inconsequential trip where she found herself wrapped in her mother’s soft but firm grip and where contact with the ground was never established. None the less, the balloon was no longer within her reach.

“BALLOON!” the child screamed in a flutter of panic.

“It’s flying away darling. Look its going up and up and up into the sky”

“My balloon” the child sadly said. “Flying…” she quickly recovered from her sadness and replaced it with a sort of understanding.

“Yes, flying. Pretty isn’t it?” The mother said, hoping that maybe, just maybe the child wouldn’t show any further signs of sadness or distress.

“Windy,” the child said. And in her face you could see the cogs of her brain ticking. She now connected the wind with the balloons motion. It was obvious. That must have been what her mother had been trying to explain. The wind would carry the balloon high up in the sky, and suddenly the child started to cry.

“It’s ok, darling. Don’t cry. We’ll get another balloon. Would you like that?”  The mother quickly said hoping that with the promise of a new balloon to come, the child would no longer be distressed. She didn’t like her child to be distressed or sad. Her child was a good child, and as such, more than anything, she loved to see her happy.

“No” the child said, tears streaming down her face. “Windy. Mommy fly high up in the sky” she finished.

Her mother couldn’t help but smile at that. And even though she tried to contain it or disguise it from her small child’s prying eyes, she smiled at the logic of the child. At the simplicity of the thought that must have occurred to her. It was windy and Mommy could also fly away high up in the sky just like her balloon.

“No darling, the wind won’t take mommy away. Only balloons and little things can be blown away by the wind.”

“I little” the child said, obviously not quite understanding what her mother was trying to tell her.

“Yes, you are. But not that little and the wind could never take you away from me.”

In response to the certainty she could hear in her mother’s words and see in her mother’s face, the child gave her mother a strong embrace. A squeeze, as she liked to call it. And by anyone else’s standards it was not a bear hug, it was only a mild embrace, considering that the child was after all only a small child and only as strong as small children are.

The mother smiled whilst holding her soft gentle daughter in her arms. And in that embrace all the love both mother and daughter had for each other was displayed.

“My mummy” the child said.

“Yes,  I am, and you’re my daughter” The mother said, whilst pulling away from the child’s embrace in order to better look at her face. She wanted to assure herself that all was well in the child’s world.

The child did what she did best. She smiled. The child was happy.