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A few years ago a friend of mine was going through a difficult separation from her husband. She swore she still loved him but his actions had hurt her deeply. It was Christmas and my friend's husband had been away for a few months. The family was large-they had six children-and I wondered how my friend and her brood were going to make it through the Christmas season. Not only because of their recent lack of money, but more importantly, because their father would not be as closely woven into the festivities this year as in previous years.
After discussing the problem briefly with my young children, we decided that what the family needed was some plain and simple fun.
We purchased some tickets for a local sporting event, bought a card, and planned a day to deliver the surprise. As an afterthought we decided to buy a potted plant-nothing fancy, but my children thought the purple blooms were beautiful.
When the day arrived to deliver the gifts, all hearts were beating in anticipation. Eagerly my husband and I walked, while the children rushed to the door. We were greeted by three of her small children. Behind them stood their mother. She invited us in.
"We thought you'd like this," I began, the potted plant held snugly under one arm. She reached for the plant, but what I'd meant to give her was the tickets in the crisp, white envelope.
Suddenly, my friend burst into tears. "How did you know?" she said, taking the potted plant in her hands. Tears were streaming down her face and I had no idea what to say. Neither did any of my family members.
"Today is my wedding anniversary. He always buys me flowers. But this year." Her wedding anniversary?
My friend's voice trailed off and I felt the lump that had entered my throat grow into mammoth size. I wondered if she was angry that we'd made her remember her special day. I wondered why we'd purchased that stupid plant.
But her next words surprised me even more than her first revelation. "Thank you for helping me to remember."
I blinked my eyes, realizing that a few tears had begun to accumulate on my own eyelashes. I wiped them with the back of my hand, and almost as an afterthought, handed my friend the tickets, explaining what they were. As we left, she thanked us again for our thoughtfulness.
I walked outside in a daze. What had just happened? But the true gift was unmistakable.
It had always been the
potted plant.
