March 19 this year will be the first day of spring, same as last year.
March 19 of last year my wife who was Dutch – who thus not surprisingly loved tending to her tulips – left her garden here for her heavenly garden up there after tending to me, her husband, for 50 years.
March 19 will also mean increasing sunlight which, truth be told, inspires birds to sing.
Robin Williams said, “Spring is nature’s way of saying, ‘Let’s party!’”
The whole earth smiles come spring.
Maybe by then I will smile more too.
I have learned recently in Grief Share that the reason tears are so often present for me (grief ambushes, significant firsts) is because I am an ‘external griever.’
In other words, if you ask me in the parking lot, or in an aisle at the grocery story, how I’m doing (and please ask) just be prepared for the pause, the pull of the handkerchief from my pocket (which I must never leave home anymore without), the tears that will follow, followed by my need for a hug.
Which leads me to say that I think for 200 years or more many of us may have been doing love all wrong.
When someone said, “Don’t say that spring has come until you can put your foot on nine daisies,” I would like to suggest that there’s a better use for daisies.
“The Decision of the Flower” is an 1820 engraved illustration of a beautiful French maiden plucking the petals from a daisy as her quite obvious suitor, his arm draped around her, holding her close, her lips certainly within kissing distance, breathlessly awaits whether the quite obvious object of his affection shall love him or not.
She meanwhile appears coyly to ignore his embrace and slowly – quite maddeningly slowly in fact – tosses first this petal and then that, yawning as if this were a task so tedious as to unnecessarily occupy her most valuable time.
But what we’re most importantly missing in this petal-plucking love story is what was really happening in that 1820 engraving.
In “effeuiller la marguerite,” which means “remove the leaves from the daisy,” the petals – in the original French version of the game – do not simply indicate whether the object of the player’s affection loves them, but to what extent.
That is so important when it comes to love as to require repeating, and for purposes of emphasis: The matter at hand is NOT whether she is loved, but HOW MUCH she is loved: un peu “a little” or beaucoup “a lot,” the latter passionnément à la folie which is to say, ‘passionately to the point of madness.’
What wife does not want to be loved passionnément à la folie?
In other words, the dirge, if you will, sung to the flower’s slow demise as the petals are plucked from the flower should be (pause here for dramatic effect):
“He loves me, He loves me lots!”
Just yesterday on social media there was a post by someone that wrote to husbands of two months or 20 years as to their four-fold responsibility: Pursue her; Hear her; Date her; Defend her.
Since I’m hard of hearing and thus can legitimately tune out when it comes to being a good listener in love, for all the rest of you guys who can hear and are still husbands and not a widower like me, flowers – tulips, daisies, whatever – are within your power to display your due diligence when it comes to love.
Better yet:
Passionnément à la folie!
I met Mr Anderson, in Tillicum, while teaching a public health nursing class. His use of flowers to discuss the love for his wife exemplifies his compassion for others. His soft spoken turn of a phrase can teach more than an academic article on the topic of caring.
We need more folks like him who can empathize sincerely with the grief of an entire community, because he openly recognizes his own pain from loss. I send both deep sympathies to him, and heartfelt gratitude for the lessons he shares from his personal observations.
Dear Janet,
Yours was a so kind, warm, compassionate ‘hug’ in words! The hug I needed! Blessings and thank you!