Mr. Balloon Man

I have never thought much about "balloon men" before. Until last night, anyway. There was a largish ballpoint pen drawing on youngest kid's left palm. I asked to see it. She showed me. What I saw as a happy little face with a tuft of hair on its ovalness had something else -- an elongated vertical line coming out from its base. The line went all the way down her inner arm to her elbow. Now, notes of what to remember to bring home from school I have seen. Someone's telephone number, I've seen that too. This was totally new.

"And this is?"

"Mr. Balloon Man. I can tell him my problems."

"I see!"

And off she went with her confidant.

So I thought about this. Mr. Balloon Man is just an ink pen away. Who have I been pulling aside lately to tell my problems to? To whose have I listened? I can think of a few, both ways. And the past weeks I've been feeling low with weighty thoughts from a couple of worlds on my heart...uprisings in Egypt, Tunisia, Lybia. Regular folks protesting and chanting for their freedoms. In Lybia the battle has become militarily heavy-handed. Bloody sacrifices for freedom. Our own citizens in the U.S. battling for workers' rights in Wisconsin and elsewhere -- the brave ones standing up for what's right and what's just. The fuel of freedom-wishes coming to flame in the streets. I cheer with you people, pray for your safety, and am grateful for your sacrifices. But my prayer is for change without violence.

Then just a few short days ago, Japan suffered terribly when the 8.9 magnitude earthquake hit and tsunami quickly followed. Thousands confirmed dead, more homeless, living out of public buildings, their regional nuclear power plants heating up, burning, leaking radiation. I think of dear ones still struggling in Haiti, their earthquake woes continue after more than two years. Then today, an hour ago, I got the news that another beloved child has died -- a 9 year old in the outer circle of our family's circle. The inner circle of that family's circle. I feel that wound deeply, it is raw each time, as I have been lost in that dark inner circle before myself, as a mom.

All of it can be so overwhelming.

And when I hold my thoughts at arm's length long enough, I can acknowledge my own balloon man. Mine can seem invisible till I see him in someone else's eyes, or in another person's pain. Very present. Willing to listen, needing to be listened to. He doesn't exist to make the problems disappear, but to give me perspective on what matters in the long run, and to find relief in dumping them in his lap for a while. There are problems that can be resolved when I, balloon man, and others team together. This can take a very long time, longer than my lifetime, but is, as some say, "doable". I must keep taking "look up" breaks in times like this when the weight of human existence keeps pushing me down. Lie on my back and look at the clouds, maybe, whether they're white or gray or orange.

Hmm.

Have you ever noticed how often, in Curious George stories, there seems to be a balloon man? How we could all use one in our corner, on our street, when we're looking for a fast, upward escape.