Signs

I have a running list of topics for this blog, though sometimes I just wing it and write about whatever is going on (or not going on) at the moment.

I wanted to take a minute to tell this story because it had such an impact on me, because it gives me the strange feeling of hopeful hopelessness that comes when all is lost and you are clinging to it anyway.

Last night my husband and I met up after work for our slightly late Valentine’s Day dinner. He said he had a story to tell me.

He had to get some coffee grounds for work to test some equipment. He checked the office lounge, but there wasn’t enough to work with, so he decided to stop at a Dollar General store on the way.
A woman was standing at the checkout counter, chatting with the cashier. He said it was obvious she had been there for a little while. He got his coffee and went to stand in line.
The woman asked him if he was in business. He said yes. She asked him if he recently got a new job. He said yes.
“You look like a successful person. But you look sad, too. Did you lose something this year? Or maybe two somethings?” she asked.
He told her he had lost two sons this year.

This is where it gets strange and amazing.
“Oh, my God,” she said as she turned to the cashier. “Tell him.”

The cashier said this woman was out during her day and felt compelled to stop at the store to buy two balloons. She didn’t know why, or who they were for. She was telling the cashier that she sometimes gets these feelings, and acted on this one.

“I think these balloons are for you,” she said, “to send up to heaven for your little boys.”

So he stuck the star-shaped balloons in his car and came to dinner to tell me about the woman he met. I immediately started to sob.

I don’t think I will talk about my spirituality here now, because that is another whole topic. I can tell you that I feel my boys with me a lot. For instance, after my first son died, I noticed the number 1234 in all sorts of places — the digital clock, the total on receipts would be $12.34.
Finally, I decided it had to be my son. Then, after my second son died, I noticed the number 1235 just as often. At first I was annoyed with myself for missing 1234 so often. Then I realized — the plus one was my second son.

I know it sounds crazy, and maybe it is. Maybe I’m subconsciously looking for these signs that I attribute to the spirit and memory of my babies.

Nothing about the last year has been sane for me — I wallow in the total chaos of it all, the complete carnage. If signs from either the spiritual afar or the close quarters of my imagination ease the burn even a little, well, I’ll take it.

Last night we let the balloons go in the middle of a snowstorm. Our daughter stood in our driveway and sent those balloons to her brothers, wherever they may be.