I found this rose pressed between the pages of my Impressionist Prints book, an enormous tomb, just right for pressing things. I had to get rid of my book and others like it because I am now moving again, getting rid of most of what I own, and that includes a lot of my pride too. But this post is about the flower.
I found a note I had left between the pages with the rose, scribbled in pencil: "from ----Valentines Day, 2000." My youngest was only 6 at the time. I was still a homemaker, so happy that I could be there for my kids, but always in a state of inexplicable uneasiness that left me sort of colorless, lifeless. I wonder now if this was the last flower given to me by the ex. It was miraculously preserved, this twelve year old rose- the color true, the stem still graceful, albeit, a little brittle.
I had no feelings toward this rose. I had no desire to stomp on it or grind it into bits. It did not coax a single tear from my eye. I don't even remember him giving it to me, although this note was telling me that he did. And its discovery did not churn out even a trickle of other unwanted memories. I was merely surprised to find it. A neutral surprise.
I studied it, admiring its form. It was a delicate curiosity.
I hope that the move will bring you wonderful new things. Change is always hard but sometimes it is good too. A fresh perspective, a new way of looking at things, furniture rearranged and placed in different places that it was previously. I learned to think outside the box in my move last year. I thought that it would be really hard and I agonized over it for months but when it arrived it was so much easier than I ever imagined and I wonder why I didn't do it sooner. Hope you find the same things in your move.
ReplyDeleteThank you Terri for your kind words, always encouraging, uplifting. I am glad your move was good for you; I am learning, slowly, to lean back into change.
DeleteGood luck with your move. I wish you fresh roses.
ReplyDeleteAhhh thanks so much. I hope they come from a big teddy bear of a man, with silver hair. A gentleman, quiet, kind, driving a pick-up, with calloused hands and a soft heart. Is that asking too much?
DeleteSuch a wise post. Good for you. It shows growth to have no feelings at all.
ReplyDeleteWell, it was no feelings for that moment, but I guess you are right, growth does come in small increments. Hope all is well, Birdie.
Deletesometimes Wrinks, your writing hits me so hard..that I am speechless....your writing is so layered....and I feel it all...often the unsaid hurting the most....
ReplyDeleteyou are a brilliant writer....go there
You are a dear dear one. Thank you. This means more to me, than you could know.
Delete:)
DeleteWhat I kept from MY ex is a small stack of postcards he sent to me from a business trip to France he took in the aftermath of his 1st affair... (I had originally been slated to accompany him, but cancelled out) I keep them as proof to show my son one day that his father hasn't always hated me; he was conceived in love. I have to keep on believing that.
ReplyDeleteIt is good to have that to hold onto. I can't be sure my children were, but I believed they were at the time, so that has to count for something, I guess.
ReplyDelete