After a long stretch of dreary winter days, Valentine’s Day was
so bright and beautiful I had to put sunglasses on as I drove home from the
grocery store and serendipity brought Travis Tritt on my radio singing “…it's a
great day to be alive. I know the sun's still shining when I close my eyes.” I was
feeling good. I even had one perfect red rose with baby breath in the back seat
as well as a heart shaped box with three pieces of chocolate candy inside. Heck,
if there’s no one else around to treat me, why not do it myself. I love me,
right? No crime in that.
While I was picking out the rose a young man was near-by and
he was studying one miniature rose plant after another trying to decide which
one to buy. The ex-florist in me wanted to ask him if I could help because I could
see he was leaning toward plants that were nearly bloomed out and the ones with
a few flowers still in bud would last longer. I laughed at myself when it crossed
my mind that he might think I was trying to flirt with him if I offered my
opinion. Me 70-something and him 30-something. Dream on, old lady! My second thought was that I should write a
note for him to give to the recipient of his gift, telling her she’d better
appreciate the thoughtfulness he put into picking it out. He was as serious as
a Tibetan monk as he studied his choices. But I had my own perfection to find
and that’s not easy in this day and age when supermarket cut flowers are so jacked
up on preservatives that they often don’t open. I hate that.
When I got home I went to my Facebook page. I rarely post
anything there---a few animal videos just to let people on my friends list know
I’m still alive. Mostly I go there to read my news feeds and look at family photos
others post. But I had something I wanted to share so when Facebook asked me “What’s
on your mind?” I wrote: “It was on a bright, sunny day just like today and I
was selling Valentine's Day flowers in the middle of the mall when Don came
strolling in after plowing snow all night. He ended up staying to help me and
he was so good with the customers. If that isn't love, then I don't know what
love is. Still miss you, Don!” That day at the mall is one of those days that
comes floating back to the surface when I’m trying to decide exactly when and
where I was when I first knew I was in love with Don. I have five-six memories like that fighting for first place on my love-smacked list.
Like all couples, I could also conjure up a short list of
memories when I wanted to kick Don to the curb. But there’s something that
happens to many women when we get knighted with our WIDOW titles that
diminishes memories of fights and hurt feelings and changes them into regrets or
comedy skits. Not long after Don died I was in the toothpaste aisle at the grocery
store and a couple was arguing over what brand of toothpaste to buy. I had a
hard time resisting the temptation to step in between them with my metaphorical
referee’s whistle and telling the couple to buy both brands, for crying out loud!
“Isn’t having a peaceful marriage worth four bucks and a little extra space in
your medicine cabinet?” I’ll never understand why people argue over trivial
stuff like that. We never did that. Ya, right. It’s too bad there wasn’t a
newly minted widow around the day I picked a fight with Don because the night
before I had dreamed he was cheating on me with a woman who looked like Jennifer
Anderson. Back in the days when Friends
was the hot TV show he developed a crush on her that lasted his entire life. How
does a guy defend himself against a dream? See what I mean about how fight scenarios
when viewed after death could easily be turned into comedy skits? The mind is
an amazing place when it’s trying to justify our own illogical behavior.
Valentine’s Day night I dreamed something with details that
are fuzzy to me now but when I woke up in the morning I was happy and I knew
Don had come to visit me in my sleep. Often times my sleeping life is richer and
more fun than my daytime life. And if the need to pee didn’t wake me and force
me out of bed, I wouldn’t mind living in that twilight zone between sleep and
wakefulness. Too many mornings I throw my legs over the side of the bed and sit
there for a few minutes dreading the long, lonely day ahead. I don’t know how to fix
that feeling when it comes… ©
