I woke up this morning to find the balloons my husband had gifted me yesterday were no longer aloft—most of the helium was gone. First thought—the store screwed up. Couldn’t they even get balloons right?

Growing up, my family generally assumed that bad shit was about to happen and other people were out to get us. While I’ve spent decades unwinding that way of thinking, there it was again. My deflated balloons were stand-ins for anything that’s gone wrong and all that’s about to go wrong. Okay, so maybe I tend towards the dramatic.

From the time I was a kid, I’ve loved balloons—the colors, the lightness, the sense of freedom they represent. I’d buy one at the mall, tie it to my back belt loop, and it followed me through the shopping plaza. I was riffing on the beautiful film The Red Balloon. In high school I even made an homage of my own, filming a friend walking through the National Zoo and handing them out to strangers.

So I was thrilled when my husband brought the balloon bouquet home for me yesterday. I figured they’d be around for a couple of days since they’ve always lasted that long for me in the past. Instead, I woke up to the sound of my cats batting them around—on the floor.

This morning when I thanked my husband again for his thoughtfulness, I mentioned I was bummed out they’d tanked so fast, and that I might stop by the store and ask them to issue a do-over.

“The clerk wasn’t very into being there,” he said. I immediately softened, thinking of her, wondering what was going on with her. “She seemed very dour, sad and quiet.”

For the rest of the morning, I thought of the clerk on and off, wishing her well, wishing her peace, wishing her moments of the lightness and joy that balloons have meant to me.

My deflated blue and white bouquet was no longer just the quick thrill I’d had with them yesterday followed by a next day’s letdown. Instead, they were a way to connect with someone else’s concerns and refocus on the sweet gift I’d received.

Still, I wondered, why did this batch have a quicker end of life than every other bouquet I’ve received? I consulted Party City’s website, which gives the latex versions an expected float time of an ephemeral 10 hours.

Apparently, my previous good fortune with balloons lasting two to three days may have been luck. Or perhaps they knew how much I loved them and rallied to live beyond their expiration time. While these may not have stayed aloft as long, they remain beautiful from the spot where I’ve hung them, where I can appreciate the way they connected me to the store clerk who inflated them, even while she was so deflated herself.