Grieving for a Popped Balloon

Over a month ago, on a whim, the father bought a $1 orange balloon from Toys R' Us in Chadstone, and it turned out to be a rather lasting investment.

The orange balloon had been sitting prettily inflated in our living room, remaining unflappable in the face of many weeks of D sitting on it, plonking his tummy down on it, kicking it, squeezing it, and on one occasion even biting it.

Till at last on Thursday, our boy, supporting himself with his hands on the sofa, decided to jump on the balloon as he would a trampoline, when it decided that enough was enough and promptly popped.

All hell hath no fury like a boy with a popped balloon!

Picking up the shriveled up orange carcass from the floor, I headed to the rubbish bin saying to him, "sorry boy it's time to say bye-bye to balloon."

Unable to cope with the sudden loss of a dearly beloved object, our boy's tears started streaming down his face, and replied "No more balloon. No more balloon.... MORE BALLOON!!!".

He ran after me, standing in front of the bin, lifted the lid and reached his hands in to retrieve it, screaming and crying "MORE BALLOON, MORE BALLOON!". When I said sternly "No!" and slammed the lid back down he looked tearily at me and threw himself down on the floor.

I didn't know if I should laugh or cry. I explained to him that it's ok to feel sad, but mommy can't help you bring it back. You just have to accept it.

Sigh, perhaps this is his first lesson in grieving for the temporal things in this life that once lost are irretrievable, eh?