On a brisk Fall day back when my son was a toddling three-year-old, I sat on our back patio with him and listened to my favorite piece of classical music, Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major.
Justin was a hyperactive child and classical music calmed him and helped him to focus. There were moments when a rise or fall in the music would stop him dead in his tracks. He would become instantly transformed into a ballet star, arms stretched over his head as he twirled slowly on his tiptoes to the music.
On this morning however, Justin was hyper-focused on bubbles. I blew a steady stream of the soapy spheres to the point my lips ached. He jumped and he stomped and he giggled and tried his best to catch or pop every bubble I blew.
After an hour of his tireless squeals of “More Mommy! More!” I told him it was time to rest. He plopped his tiny butt down next to mine on the concrete step and took the wand in his little hand to blow a few himself. His full lips puckered up tight and he let out a great big puff only to watch a stream of soapy liquid and spittle fall straight to the ground.
He was a determined child and never gave up easily on any quest. Finally, success. A line of small bubbles left the wand and began to float slowly towards the concrete. A slight breeze gave them rise and they climbed in a circular pattern above the fence line. Before long, they disappeared like translucent rainbows high into the clouded sky.
Justin watched them float away with wide eyes and a hand over his brow, as he strained to see where they had gone.
After a few minutes he sighed and looked at the ground. That is when he asked me one of the most important questions of my life.
“Mommy, where do bubbles go when they die?”
I smiled and searched my mind for a logical answer. This was my opportunity to put on my science cap and teach him a lesson on the changing states of Matter. But something deep inside caused me to hesitate. The next words that left my lips surprised me.
“They go to Bubble Heaven of course. They float far, far away over oceans and mountains and when they land they are all together in a beautiful meadow with a stream lined by flowers and bunny rabbits.”
His eyes opened wide, he grabbed the wand again and began to blow and blow until a few more bubbles would form and float away. He watched them rise with delight and waved and squealed “Bye, bye bubbles. Have fun in Bubble Heaven!”
Although twenty-two years have now passed, every time I think about that morning I smile. It has become a reflection of just how magical life can be when we use a little bit of imagination.
My son, now a man, has continued through life with that same sense of excitement and wonder he had as a three-year-old. That beautiful part of him will never die. He is one of the lucky few who refuses to be cemented down in the serious side of life. He still finds wonder in the smallest things and will pause to dance a pirouette when the music calls to his soul.
Now close your eyes and just imagine how beautiful that world would be…