There was a great tragedy in my family the other day. It came suddenly, while I was sitting at the kitchen table and my kids were playing outside. The idyllic quiet of early evening in the country was jarringly broken by my daughter’s hysterical scream.
I jumped up and, heroically abandoning the Facebook post I was working on, ran outside to save the day. But I was too late.
As I followed my son’s finger pointing up high into the darkening azure sky, I saw a faint speck growing smaller and smaller, and I understood my daughter’s pain.
Her balloon, Balloony as she so creatively named it, was making a frenetic escape to the stratosphere.