Balloons

I watched the colourful balloons rise, rise, rise into the sky. Some had messages attached to the end of strings, other balloons rose only so far before being caught in the bare branches of nearby trees. All were gently released from little hands crowded along the pavement. Magical bubbles drifted around the procession in random, free motions. To everyone’s surprise it looked and felt like a street celebration.

Children of all sizes, faces of all tones and colours, had come out, in the tens, in the dozens, in the scores, to watch the black limousines drive by. A mother rested her hand on the shoulders of her child as moist streams trailed down her cheeks. Other parents and teachers joined the children as they wildly and happily blew bubbles at us and clapped their hands.

They had all come out for Carmen to send her off on her final journey. For Carmen was their teacher, their friend and confidante; their rock, their shoulder to cry on, and they pal to play with. She loved children, and made educating them, understanding them, seeing the positive potential in every each and one of them she came across her life and career. Especially those who need more patience and help, those who sumbled in the cultural and social divides of this often segregated society, she paid attention to. She devoted her time and energies to making ever child feel special and cared about. And my brother and I were fortunate to have been among these children.

Later, at the funeral home, a boy came up to pay tribute to her but choked on the very first word and could no longer continue. What could one say about a warm, kind, selfless human being who made time for everyone, who saw the goodness in everyone, and who made you feel like you were the centre of the world as she sat and listened? She did not judge, she did not see problems, even in the direst of circumstances. Her connection with fellow beings radiated through her smiles and words of empathy, her connectedness with nature manifested itself in her love of meditation and things beyond the material world.

Music played, and Springsteen’s soulful voice and words penetrated the walls of the crowded room, and of my heart. For the first time since her passing, warm tears escaped the corner of my eye, and I felt the realisation of loss creep up and consume me:

…When they built you, brother, they turned dust into gold
When they built you, brother, they broke the mold.

They say you can't take it with you, but I think that they're wrong
'Cause all I know is I woke up this morning, and something big was gone
Gone into that dark ether where you're still young and hard and cold
Just like when they built you, brother,
They broke the mold.

A little boy suddenly pointed up to the ceiling, and kept talking. She must have been watching us in that crowded room. Where there were no more seats, a host of people willingly stood throughout the ceremony at the back. All to catch a last glimpse of this wonderful woman, to thank her for her being, for her presence and her impact on each of us in separate but equally unique ways. She must be touched by fact that we were there to share our love and memories of her. A projector image of Carmen smiled back at all of us, smiled back at the arrangements of fresh flowers. She must have thought how beautiful, how full of life it all was. Even if the reason we all gathered together was death.

Now your death is upon us and we'll return your ashes to the earth
And I know you'll take comfort in knowing you've been roundly blessed and cursed
But love is a power greater than death, just like the songs and stories told
And when she built you, brother, she broke the mold

That attitude's a power stronger than death, alive and burning her stone cold
When they built you, brother