Most days, I feel quite youthful. There are days that I realized I have stepped across the threshold, deep into the world of adults where sad events happen. Today was the latter.
Beren makes child-sized steps into that world every day. One evening, I tell him that tigers eat smaller animals. "No animals should eat animals," he tells me. "It's likely they eat fruit, too," I say.
Yesterday, he got a balloon at Shop Rite and that bright yellow balloon makes him joyful. Jared carefully shepherds Beren and the helium-filled balloon to the truck. Back home, Jared tells him to enjoy his balloon, but keep it away from light bulbs. Jared and I hustle to get dinner ready - it's already 6pm. Beren bats the balloon around for awhile, until BANG! The balloon drifts up into one the recessed kitchen lights.
Beren's face crumples and he screams. Jared and I do, too, form surprise. Tears stream down Beren's face. He wanders a short circuit through the kitchen. "WHY DID THAT HAPPEN?!" he repeats again and again. "MY BALLOON!" Jared and I console him while canola oil spatters from a not, empty skillet. My face is wet with his tears. "MY BALLOON! I WANT MY BALLOON!"
It was terribly sad. Passing into veil of things, things being so deeply pleasurable and meaningful, and then lost.