On the String of a Blue Balloon

The flowers were vibrant, but the girl with the personality to match wasn't there to enjoy them.  The high school choir sang beautifully, but the voice of the girl who should've had the solo was missing.  The blue balloons drifted and danced against fluffy, white clouds.  One strayed from the rest to go it's own way.  The girl's dad said she must have been carrying that one, going her own way, doing her own thing as always.  Tension was broken.  People laughed through their tears.  A final goodbye as the balloons disappeared from sight.

Oh dear girl, you were only 17.  So beautiful and talented.   So much to live for.  So loved.  What kept you from seeing that?  The children's rhyme says "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me." It's so wrong.  Who made that up, anyway?  Broken bones heal.  Words that are cruel or thoughtless or bullying can inflict wounds that last a lifetime.  In your case, did they cut your lifetime short? 

I went to your memorial service needing to make sure your mom was surviving.  To give her a hug and maybe even try to shake her awake from what was feeling like a very bad nightmare.  You see, your mom and I go back a long way.  Roommates.  Work colleagues.  Double dates.  We even became moms within just few months of each other, thanks to you and my Kaelie.  It was fun the times we got to watch you girls play together, and then with your baby sister Julia and and Kaelie's baby sister Hannah.  Four little girls with so much promise, so much to look forward to.

Let me tell you how proud I was of your mom at that service.  I think you would be, too.  You should've heard the letter that she wrote and had the pastor's wife read.  It was beautiful, the way she described you, her precious girl.  She acknowledged your pain as well as her own.  But she did something else that to me was most extraordinary.   Instead of allowing herself the luxury of anger and bitterness toward anyone who may have inflicted those wounds that hurt you most, she extended grace.  She made it clear that no post, text, or tweet was responsible, nor could they have saved you or stopped you.  You, dear, determined child, are the only one who bore responsibility for your final action in this life, and so she let you bear it.  As your dad so eloquently put it in his own letter, you were a girl on fire, who felt things so deeply and so passionately.  But ultimately, it was that fire that consumed you.

Grace.  The unmerited favor of God that you chose at your baptism not so long ago.  The one thing that can give those who hurt you another chance to get it right.  The thing that encourages the rest of us to follow your pastor's advice to honor your memory by living better and loving better. The thing that I believe has so far kept your devastated family going because it has no doubt been showered on them through the loving acts and prayers of many, many people.  The one thing that enabled your mom and dad to give hugs, wipe tears from the faces of hurting teenagers, and offer comfort to everyone else, like me, who was breaking down around them.

Grace.  The one thing that I am certain allowed you, sweet girl, to be welcomed into the arms of Jesus even when, in your final act, you strayed from his plan and took matters into your own hands.  Grace that is leading you home, perhaps swinging freely, happily, on the string of a blue balloon.  Rest in peace, Jocelyn, forever in the arms of Grace.