They're beautiful, but it's difficult to compare when I have a history with flowers loved on and planted by David: see here .
When I pulled open my door, though, I saw this one, and a memory with David sprang back to life.
It was a damp, sunny spring morning in Belfast, and I was running late to school about to miss the bus. Running through the kitchen, I saw a beautiful tulip on the counter waiting for me.
I lived alone, so it wasn't as though someone had picked a tulip for themselves.
It was a present for me. From a man who knows I love flowers, a man so proud of his flowers (but so British he would never have been able to say it) that he wanted to give one to somebody he knew would appreciate its beauty as much as he did.
The flower was lovely, but it was the man that made it precious to me.
David, my man, hardly spoke at all, pleasantries at most, but there were many days where I felt as though David was my very most dear friend. He took care of me in such a practically compassionate way.
At Christmas, he brought me out of my darkness to decorate.
In the spring, he wanted to show me the flowers.
He put up a shelf in my room.
He teased me when I would make my entrance to the world at noon or past (and always made sure to be extra quiet if he thought I was asleep).
He took me to uni when the bus didn't come that late day in April.
He made pleasantries with me.
He showed me the golden finches. He loves the golden finches, "First time in ten years they come back here, them". Even said "you're welcome" when I thanked him. Yeah, it was a huge deal to him to share the finches.
David is gentle and kind, without a bad word to say about anyone. The one who gardens in his pleated trousers with button-down shirt, sweater vest, and loafers.
Tireless.
Humble.
A big fan of tea.
I ran out of the house to catch my bus that day, and David was hard at work edging the garden. When I called out a thanks, he told me he had found the tulip downed in the garden: "Musta been a nail or somethin' break it...Thought you could talk to it."
An american would have been making fun of me, but not David.
He had entrusted one of his broken baby flowers into my care. And since I know David's love for his flowers, I felt the love of the gesture.
No comments:
Post a Comment