The pounding at the door had some strange sense of urgency to it. I glance at the caregiver, my eyebrow raised.
I wasn’t expecting anyone else for the day.
“Tell them I died and to go away!”
I hear voices at the door. She yells for me to come to the door. I groan. I can’t be seen like this!
I glance down and yell out.
I am wearing an over-sized shirt, one of Matthew’s old ones. It is at least five sizes too big. I haven’t showered or even brushed my teeth yet and the morning is almost over. My face is bare, my hair piled high on top of my head.
I don’t want anyone else to see me like this. It’s bad enough that the caregiver, the occupational therapist, the carpooling kids, the crossing guards, and who knows who else has had to see me today in total disarray…
I am slightly annoyed at this minor inconvenience.
Seriously, who could it be?
The Occupational therapist was already in the bedroom, performing Matthew’s “exercises” for the day, and physical therapy and massage therapy were already done for the week. The lady who checks the machine isn’t due for another week.
No one else ever stops by during the day.
I hear the door close, and footsteps walking down the hallway, more like elephants stomping and the caregiver telling me I need to see this.
I am hiding in the kitchen.
The footsteps draw closer.
I see the giant bouquet before I see anything else.
A giant bouquet of roses.
Eighteen of them to be exact!
Long stem roses, white and soft pink, arranged in a large vase, carried by a wisp of a girl. The roses must have weighed almost as much as her.
A smile spreads across my face.
She sets the roses on the table, along with two small bags. The names of my two youngest children are written on the bags.
Again, I can’t stop smiling.
I tell the girl thank you and watch as she stomps out. (for such a small thing, she sure is loud!)
And I shake my head..once again amazed at my husband and his thoughtfulness….and lack of ability to follow directions.
I walk into the bedroom, that same smile still spread on my face to find him, like a small, anxious boy, ready to burst.
“I thought we agreed not to exchange gifts this year, since we are going to dinner?” My eyebrow is raised again. I am trying to look stern, but it isn’t working.
“That rule was made after this was arranged. And there are no take backs!” His eyes are twinkling.
I shake my head, lean my arms against his wheelchair and give him an eskimo kiss.
“What did you get for P and K?”
“Well, it’s their anniversary too!”
And just like that…I remember why I love this man.
He is compassionate, kind and caring. He is thoughtful and sweet and generous beyond anything I have ever seen. He is also, by far, the most romantic man I have ever met in my life. He knows me better than I know myself. He is my biggest fan, and for some strange reason he loves me.
And he loves my children as much as I do…
Happy Anniversary, babe!