First and Last

Two years ago, Significant Other was in hospital for more radiotherapy to his spine in an attempt to ease some of his pain. Although I spent the majority of my days and evenings at his bedside, we agreed between us that this time I wouldn’t spend my nights there. Although I wanted and he wanted for us to be together as much as possible, we both knew I needed some sort of brief respite.

Two years ago today, I received a phone call from my brother-in-law first thing in the morning, telling me to look in the shed. Puzzled, I did so and on opening the door burst into tears. Sitting inside I found roses and a card. Significant Other, amidst all his pain, both physical and psychological, had remembered Valentine’s Day and with the help of his brother had organised the gifts for me.

I still have one of the roses and, of course, the card.

See the smaller flower? That’s the very first rose he gave me many, many years ago for Valentine’s Day.

Both roses lie safely in the box, but only occasionally do I lift the lid to look at them. I don’t need to – I know they’re there and that’s enough. I have a fleeting moment of sadness when I see them, but it passes very quickly because what I overwhelmingly remember is the love with which they were given.

Two roses.

First and last.

Viewed with a smile.

And love.