When my son was born, I would walk him in his stroller along San Carlos Street in San Jose so I could photograph. I became obsessed with the balloons that adorned the used cars and awkward furniture for sale along this overlooked street. I few years later, when both my parents died within a month of one another, balloons took on metaphorical importance. I invested in a helium tank and brought balloons along with me on constructed photo shoots. The small, limp balloons stood at the ready and became plump, buoyant communicators of hope--latent heralds of a new day in the face of my immense sorrow.