Here's a video on how to create lit memorial balloons.

First you'll need a helium tank. You can get them from Party City, Target or Walmart. The 50 balloon tanks will fill about ten of the 17" balloons and the smaller 30 balloon tanks will fill about six 17" balloons.

You also need some 17 inch white latex balloons and the battery powered LED party lights to light the balloons. You can get those on Amazon. 

17 Inch Latex Balloons White (Premium Helium Quality) Pkg/50

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004R43A8Y/ref=wms_ohs_product?ie=UTF8&psc=1

Vakind 60x White LED Party Lights Decoration light For Paper Lanterns Balloons

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B009HVSATG/ref=wms_ohs_product?ie=UTF8&psc=1

Finally, you'll need some thin white or gold ribbon, some post it notes and some narrow masking tape or painter's tape to modify the helium tank. 

To make the balloons: 

First we'll have to modify the helium tank slightly to work with the larger 17 inch balloons as the tank filler nozzle is designed to fill smaller balloons. So, with the tank valve closed, unscrew the helium filler nozzle and take some masking tape or painters tape and wrap it around the filler tube until it's about half again larger. That will make it fit the larger balloons. Then screw that filler valve back on. 

Next we'll take one of the LED lights. You'll see there's a white tab on the side to keep the light from turning on. Go ahead and remove the tab and then turn the base of the light until it lights up. In our experience about 10% of the LED lights are bad so it's best to test them first before using them. 

Then tie the tested LED light to a 2 to 3 foot section of ribbon, turn the LED light on and drop it into one of the 17 inch balloons. 

It's also a good idea to cut several 6 inch sections of ribbon to tie the balloon closed. Because ribbon will be coming out of the balloon from the light, it's very hard to tie them in a regular knot. A second set of hands makes this step easier.

Next put the balloon over the filler valve, open the green tank valve and then press the filler tube up or down to fill the balloon with gas.

You'll want to make the balloon quite full so that it has enough helium to lift the two LED lights. 

Then pop the balloon off and have somebody help you use a couple short sections of ribbon to tie the balloon closed. 

You can then let the balloon float to the ceiling. 

Then open and test another LED light and then tie it to the other end of the ribbon. 

And, if you want, take a post it note and write a message that you can attach to the balloon. Fold the post it note in half over the ribbon and it will hold firmly . 

Now your Memorial balloon is ready to launch. 

Is not recommended to fill the balloons too far ahead of an event because the 17 inch balloons tend to be a little leaky . So I would launch them within about 10 minutes of creating them.

Release them into the dark and watch them disappear into the night sky. After a time, the lit balloons will be indistinguishable from the stars.

It is one of the first beautiful fall days in Chicago. I can still hear the cicadas’ song which is becoming noticeably weaker each day. I hear the leaves scattering across the sidewalks with the wind. Summer has ended in Chicago. And I still find myself reflecting on the death of a young man who died in Chicago at the beginning of this summer, and of his family.

In Chicago, we are pummeled in the news daily with yet another tragic death of a young person, often by gunfire. Then there are the equally numerous, painful losses due to car accidents and drownings. It seemed there were a lot of deaths of young people in Lake Michigan this summer. These daily and wrenching accounts of young lives cut short become numbing. We read these stories and perhaps send up silent prayers for the families. Most of us then move on to the next news story and on with our lives. The toll of these daily losses forces us to become almost immune to the sadness of so many young deaths.

I did not know Austin. I do not know his family. Yet the news of his heartbreaking death saddened me deeply.

Austin’s story struck a personal chord with me. The picture of his beaming face at White Sox Park alongside his dad reminded me so much of a family member who similarly is always completely immersed in the joy of the moment no matter what he is doing, with a radiant smile to match. Austin’s boyish face and smile could easily have belonged to someone I knew and loved.

I also could relate to the stories of Austin’s fascination with weather. I have a son who also preferred watching the Weather Channel when he was a little boy over any other program—and which was often on at our house seemingly nonstop. My then preschool son would keep us abreast of upcoming—usually dire--weather conditions, in painstakingly and endless detail. Only other true Weather Channel aficionados can understand why Jim Cantore was a god in our house and why we were shushed into silence if Jim was expounding on some potential weather disaster.

I knew well the experience of having a son with a passion and enormous knowledge for all things weather. And I distinctly recalled my son speaking excitedly about the weather on June 12, 2013, as I drove him to the train that morning, stating there was a forecast of a possible derecho—an unusual and threatening large storm formation. When I subsequently heard on the news that Austin, a University of Chicago student, was missing while likely seeking out the weather that evening, I thought of my own son who would also have determinedly sought out that type of extreme weather experience regardless of personal safety concerns.

So I anxiously followed Austin’s story and of the heartbreaking discovery of his death. I grieved inwardly for this young man whom I did not know, and for his family, whose sorrow and anguish I could not begin to imagine.

But I do know what it’s like to love a child fiercely with every fiber of my being. I know what it’s like to love my children more than my own life. And I absolutely know that the loss of any child leaves an aching and unfillable hole in a parent’s heart that has to be cruelly recalled each and every day thereafter. A terrible loss and an unfathomable pain that every parent prays never to experience.

But I have also seen the enduring love for a child, for Austin, that is so much stronger than death. When Austin’s family almost immediately started sharing the many pictures, stories of friends and families, and even some personal family videos of Austin with his family, his family’s unwavering love for Austin pulled some of the essence of who Austin was into other people’s lives and hearts, including those of strangers like myself. It was astonishing to me that Austin’s family were able to share so many wonderful and intimate memories of Austin for anyone who wanted to know who he was, during what could only be the darkest moments of their lives. And it is this abiding family love for Austin that steadfastly survives his death, continuing to bring Austin into other’s lives, even those who never met him.

What I now have learned about Austin from those stories and memories is that he was a brilliant, loving and kind college student. He loved weather, numbers and classical music. He was not a fashion plate with his too-short pants and white socks. He was a deeply loved son, brother and friend. And like any son, brother and friend, he had wonderful talents and his own unique quirks.

Most importantly, as Austin’s parents and family so tenderly and lovingly depict, he was just a great kid. Everyone really needs to know that about him most of all, because he was their son and brother who they loved, and will always love, with all of their hearts and fibers of their beings. That never-ending love radiates in and through every picture, story and recollection shared. That they miss Austin more than words can ever adequately convey is achingly palpable. And to intimately know that kind of intense and boundless love in our own lives for our own children means that we strangers, too, can and should also grieve his loss.

I am driving my son to the train on what is probably one of the last of the truly spectacularly warm days of this early Chicago autumn. My son points to the numerous “cumulonimbus” clouds approaching over the horizon. He is explaining, in exacting detail, why they are often called anvil clouds. I look at the majestic white clouds slowly winding their way to Chicago and towards Lake Michigan. And I think of Austin and how he would most likely also have taken time to admire and appreciate the beauty and magnitude of the colossal clouds.

However, I think not just of Austin but also of the indomitable and forever love of his family and how that also continues to resonate with me on this beautiful fall day. Truly, a love that is far greater and stronger than death.

- Anonymous post to RememberingAustin.com

-----
To whoever wrote this post, you have our deepest thanks and love. Austin's Memorial is Oct 21st at 6:30pm at the Rockefeller Chapel at UChicago. We hope you and your family can join us.

Last month, I wrote an article for my company's newsletter to share my experience with all our customers here at Trakware. This may seem like an odd thing to share with a customer but I feel there are many lessons to be learned from our experience with the search for Austin and how it affected our view of the world. 

Many people have a negative view of the world and I wanted to let people know that has not, in any way, been our experience.

Here's my article:


Austin Hudson-Lapore, 1992-2013

On the evening of June 13th, my wife and I got the call that every parent dreads. “Your son left the apartment yesterday evening and we can’t find him. We've called all his friends and no one has seen him since yesterday!”

My son Austin was a rising senior studying Biochemistry at the University of Chicago. The day before, he had completed his last final in the early afternoon and then returned to his apartment. It was forecast to be a stormy evening in Chicago as a rare kind of thunderstorm, a “derecho”, was passing over the city. At 8:34pm, with the rain tapering off, he logged off his computer, left his apartment and disappeared.

It was obvious to everyone who knew Austin that he’d gone towards the lake front, half a mile away, to watch the lightning as the thunderstorms pass over the city. He loved exploring the lake front parks and had been an avid weather buff since childhood.

Thus ensued a frantic search for the next six days in the area between his apartment in Hyde Park and the lake shore. With the media closely following the story, friends, family, volunteers, police, marine units and divers searched for him.

Finally, on the 7th day, a fisherman saw a shape in the water in the dawn light and the search was over.

This story is not so much about how my son lived or died but rather about what we learned in our search for him.

We learned that the world can be incredibly kind - With our faces splashed across newspapers and television, many knew us by sight. People called from passing cars their prayers and best wishes. We were stopped on the street to be hugged and prayed over. The people at FedEx Office and Staples printed all our missing posters at cost or for free. Businesses with private security cameras poured over grainy images looking for our son passing. Taxis stopped and offered us free rides. Volunteers papered the area with Austin’s image. I even had two kids dressed like gang-bangers walk up to me to shake my hand and to tell me their hommies were scouring their territories for him and for me to be strong.

We learned you have to take matters in to your own hands – Although the police put a lot of resources into the search, they also have limited time and manpower. We worked from morning to night coordinating help, getting security camera footage, posting missing flyers, updating websites and Facebook, working leads and talking to the media. The images of us driving the search brought in many more prayers and offers of support.

We learned to ask for and accept help – We used the media to appeal for help in our search. That resulted in community organizers offering their help with flyering and a search dog (over the objections of the police). With churches forming prayer circles for his safe return. With boaters offering to help us with a water search. And with volunteer searchers who scoured the alleyways and wooded areas for Austin.

We learned to reach out using social media – With the help of my very internet savvy sister, niece and her best guy, their website and social media campaigns raised awareness of our search with the media and among younger people who don’t follow traditional media. It also made our search national and international news with the story appearing in the press from London to Taiwan.

And finally, we relearned the power of family – My family is a very strong one. Even though this was a terrible time, we all supported and loved each other 100%. That love and support came through in all the media we did and we think it’s one of the reasons people were so supportive of us. It maintained our spirits then and it will help us to heal now. Because in the end all that’s really important in life is family.

Give your kids and grandkids a hug for us. 

"Death sucks.
It shatters and cripples the lives it touches…

But tonight, I’ve gained a new understanding of death. You could say I found the beauty in it. Not in a way that would make it pleasant or bearable… But more of a way that I can try and learn something about myself from each loss I am hit with.

Tonight, one of my most cherished communities said goodbye to a beautiful soul named Austin. He fully embodied the Albuquerque Academy. In his spirit, his contributions, and his presence. He was a genius among a sea of many masquerading as such. But a humble genius.

While I shared too little in conversation with him during our time at Academy, I left his memorial tonight with new memories shared by his loved ones, professors, and my fellow Academy alumni.

To me, Austin had always been the boy with the rolling backpack. The image of him sprinting up the pathway to North Hall, his ID lanyard flying in the wind behind him as he passed, will be how I forever see him. Thankfully, I will also now be able to carry with me the memory of his essence, something I was missing, and had not grasped or come to know until tonight’s service.

Austin was always kind. Everybody knew that. But tonight I learned of his passion for and dedication to learning. How he loved to try new things, and embraced the possibilities that so many of us happily go through our days ignoring.

His father left the mourners with an inspiring challenge and request, brought on by the way Austin lived. He encouraged us to remember and honor Austin by challenging ourselves to say ‘yes’ more. To go that extra mile on a hike. To go to classical music concerts and just, be, in the full moment of the music. To tell everybody we love, just how much we love them, unapologetically. Because why not? Why not tell your friends you love them, every chance you get? It’s the truth isn’t it?

I spoke a few words of how I will remember Austin, and for that his family thanked me. But I should have been thanking them. And thanking Austin. His death rocked our community. But it also brought us together, hopefully, strengthening the bounds already there, and establishing the ones not yet built.

So tonight, I start anew. And for that, I thank you, Austin.
Say hi to Nick and Lt. Casey while you’re up there. Hope you all have one, big, rollicking heck of an Academy reunion."