Air

The room was large and spacious with an impressive arching door, wood paneling flanking the entrance. The room was the kind used to house weddings. One expected to be met with a carpet strewn with rose petals. This, however, was not a wedding. It was a memorial. A gathering with a very different sentiment but, one could argue, still a passage from one stage of life to another.

The center of the room was divided by a long line of tables on which people were placing food they had brought to the memorial. The food was a hodgepodge of crockpots of macaroni and cheese, some kind of chilli, a cheese concoction and more. Where the cluster of crockpots ended, a series of other food items began. Aluminum trays housing baked items, plastic cups holding utensils and a concentric display of water bottles that was consistently replenished from a pile of packs of water wrapped in plastic stored in another part of the room. The table set up continued with bowls of pasta salad surrounded by economy packs of cheez-its and chips. Then, a truly impressive variety of dessert—from cheesecakes, to hundreds of cookies, cakes, pastries and brownies. Grief desires sugar. An endless amount of it.

Mark had died of pancreatic cancer a month earlier and this was his memorial.

His widow Donna was hosting the gathering of his family and friends. The mood was of people gathering for a picnic with a strong undercurrent of somber that swelled periodically like a wave and then dissipated. There were exclamations as people met each other, incredulous looks as a family member saw another who they had last seen at age 5 and was now, decidedly not 5 anymore. The cousin in question was sporting a sizable fiery red beard that five year olds would have been envious of, a sweet partner and a very small baby firmly strapped to their chest. This was the baby’s first outing. The exclamations were punctuated with a periodic sob when, after the surprise of seeing everyone, there was a reminder why they all were gathered.

Donna, the widow, moved around the room in a bright tie dye shirt. Her request of guests was that they wear comfortable, dare she say, “hippie clothing”. She was meeting strangers and family alike with warmth, generosity and grace. She looked incredibly sad but somehow held strong as if the energy of the room was what was keeping the pieces of her in place. She moved around the room like a moth, never settling in one place too long, always allowing family and strangers to embrace her.

Mark, amongst many other things, was a musician. To celebrate this, a stage with a drum set, amps, and many guitars had been set-up in the corner of the room. For a while, a group of men in their 50s tinkered with said instruments until, beyond a steady hum of conversation, the room settled down enough for them to start playing.

They played the songs of their generation: Tom Petty, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Led Zeppelin to name a few. As the music continued, the sounds of people deep in conversation and contently eating added a warm undertone to the hum in the air. A couple sat speaking to a woman they had just met. She was an ecologist who had decided in her 30s to trade her muck boots for a teaching job and was now pursuing an early retirement and picking up hobbies. She was a childhood friend of Donna’s who seemed quiet but also as if she was keeping herself out of the way—for politeness sake. Politeness was put aside as the afternoon wore on. The three talked about her drawings, her career and the couple shared their own meandering paths. The couple was in their early 40s and the ecologist almost 60 and there was something magical about a conversation that bridged those two decades at a time where transition and the weight of time was on everyone’s mind.

When Mark’s brother went on stage to say a few words, everyone quietened. During his speech, the sense of grief in the room felt heightened and people reached for tissues and their loved ones. Soon after, Donna came to the stage. She spoke of Mark, their relationship, his kindness and their time together both before the disease that killed him took over their lives and after. She spoke about their many beloved dogs, the way Mark was a perpetual MacGyver and could fix anything and how they had often been late to things because he would help strangers on the street. She talked about how, close to the end, Mark spoke about being reunited with their beloved dogs. Donna had said this was truly something to be jealous of as they laughed gently about it in bed together. There was a sense of an expanse. Of a life being more than an illness. Of a life being more than what happens at the end. The room cried and laughed with her, feeling heavy with people’s memories, as she recounted stories of their time together—this large space filled up with a man who was no longer there. Like the quiet moments before the storm, the air felt weighty with the undoubted energy that had built up.

Donna paused when she ended her story. She then asked if everyone had noticed the balloons on the tables. Everyone looked around and indeed there were empty balloons on all the tables. Little children were also running around with baskets of balloons for those who didn’t have any. Donna asked everyone to grab one and blow into it all the sadness they were carrying at that very moment. And they did.

The room went quiet apart from the mighty puffing of adults and children alike filling their balloons with all the sadness they could. A sea of colorful inflated balloons filled the room. They all seemed close to bursting but miraculously none did. As the puffing died down, everyone turned their heads towards Donna to await further instruction. She had her own balloon in her hand—it was yellow— and asked everyone to hold up their balloons . The room was ready; everyone dutifully held up their balloons. Then she asked everyone to release all the sadness.

There was a collective pause in the room, as the energy collected itself under the command of this small, slight woman, wearing a tie dye shirt, looking defiantly out at a future she was about to step into.

Then, the room filled with laughter as the balloons started joyfully whipping around, releasing everything inside.