If you are on any social media site at all, I’m sure you saw countless pictures of flower arrangements over the week of Valentine’s Day. I am not ashamed to say that I contributed to the array of shared bouquets. He bought flowers.
This traditional gift may seem lazy to some. A mindless act with no meaning because it’s what the man is supposed to do. I understand how it could be perceived as such. But nothing with me is ever as it seems.
I was married straight out of high school to my captain of the football team boyfriend. I was a sophomore and he was a senior when we started dating. It was the prince/princess scenario for me, and I made myself belief that it would last. Funny how when you want something to be true, it’s easy to pretend. We had a rocky relationship, filled with spats and quarrels like most kids do. I say kids because that’s exactly what we were. Our acts were childish. Neither of us had felt the sting of death and the fallout that comes from it. Anyway, my first husband thought that flowers could make everything better. We would fight all day and then he’d show up with a rose at work. I’d smile and forgive him. Flowers spoke the “I’m sorry” for him and I grew to loathe receiving flowers.
Like most people saw coming, my first husband and I divorced not long after a year of marriage. It had been a rough year. I had lost my mother, and in turn, lost myself. I was no longer the child he had married. And flowers couldn’t make it all better anymore.
I can remember the day the judge signed my divorce papers. The only word to describe my emotions then is free. I was weightless and floating. I was still spiraling out of control, mind you. But at least he wasn’t pulling me down faster than I was already falling. With him out of the picture, I could work on the issues I had. At least, the ones I admitted to.
I met the love of my life in November of the same year and when Valentine’s Day rolled around, I told him I didn’t want flowers and explained why. Needless to say, that night at work, my roses were waiting. I smiled as I looked at them. They were beautiful. I was one girl out of the thousands, maybe millions, that day that received a sweet smelling rose from the men we allow to hold our hand. He may have been the bravest of them all when he sent them. His flowers were anything but safe.
Over the course of our relationship, he has time and time again bought me flowers, some for special occasions, some for just because. In fact, he had a beautiful bouquet waiting for me when he proposed. He’s a romantic at heart, that husband of mine. He has never once bought flowers as an apology, and I can say with all certainty that he never will. He had to work too hard to change my perception of the seemingly safe gift.
So, it is with great joy that I repeat myself. He bought flowers.
And they were just what I wanted.
❤ Like Baby Bear Soup