I envisioned our tenth year anniversary as a scene from a romantic movie, with sweet music playing in the background and a lot of laughter. My husband and I holding hands and celebrating all our achievements together. It was indeed a big deal when you think about it; ten years of ups and downs, love, fights, forgiving each other and then enjoying those little, ordinary days that eventually became our lives.
A few weeks prior to the celebration, I took some extra shifts at work in order to be able to get the perfect gift, a watch I knew he’d loved — elegant but understated.
I could still feel the happiness of the moment when I bought it, and that night after dinner, I finally gave him with the watch. My heart was filled with joy when he smiled while looking at it. Then he took a small bag that was sitting by his chair and handed it to me. It was a plastic bottle of perfume, the type that is usually found at the very end of the supermarket counter.
For a brief moment, I failed to hide the spark of disappointment. I told myself not to mind, that gifts were not what counted, but at the same time, I was sad because I expected more from him. It wasn’t the fragrance that was the issue, but rather his lack of effort.
Anyway, I smiled, said thank you, and gave him a kiss.
Once home, I put the perfume inside a drawer. I never even opened it, just placed it there, trying to forget about having it.
Three weeks later, my life suddenly changed. I lost my husband and my world turned upside down.
The watch I had given him was on the bedside table, still ticking. The perfume in my drawer was thus still there, a silent witness to the last time we celebrated anything together. I simply could not look at it without a sharp stab of remorse. I could see the disappointment in myself as I stood so silent.
Oh, if I could turn back the time to that night just to hold his hand and truly enjoy the moment before it was gone. But sadly enough, grieving does not have a rewind button. It just takes away the words you didn’t say, and what you will never get the chance to say again.
By the time the months were up, the perfume had become a representation of everything that was left undone. I would catch sight of it while putting away or searching for an item in the drawer and I would quickly shove it away as if I were trying to keep the pain in. I missed him even in the most insignificant ways, his low humming while cooking, his head tilting when thinking, his soft reminders to take a break when I was working too much.
It was once love that filled every corner of our home, and now it was the absence which even though silent was heard very loud.
One gray day about a year later when I decided to clean that drawer after all, not because I wanted to delete his memories but rather to create a truce with them, I removed the perfume, it slipped off my hand, and hit the ground. The cap went under the bed and whilst I was bending down to get it, I noticed something small and folded slipping out underneath the label.
My heart started beating very fast. It was just a piece of paper, creased in the middle, with my name written in his handwriting. Very cautiously I opened it as if the paper might fall apart on my palms. The note read in his usual script: “I realize this perfume is a little but then again I am saving for the necklace you have always looked at. Thank you for trusting me, even when I don’t say it. You are my gift for all time.”
I let the tears flow. They fell quickly and freely with all the grief and guilt of the past months pouring out at once. I held the note to my heart, trembling, coming to the realization that what I had taken for indifference was actually the other way around. He had something bigger.
The perfume bottle, which at first was a reminder of dissatisfaction, was now the most valuable gift he had ever given it to me.
That night, I put it on my nightstand not as a reminder of loss but as a love that outlasted everything. I never sprayed it because in some way, using it felt like giving up on something divine.
Please SHARE this article with your family and friends on Facebook.
Bored Daddy
Love and Peace
