Dec. 10th, 2009

concretekiss: (Default)
A man calls this morning to say that he had stopped by the shop yesterday to place an order with me to send roses to his wife for her birthday. I recall him, elderly, sweet faced, hound dog eyes, hunkering painstakingly over his card. I remember complimenting him on how well prepared he was, stopping by days ahead to take care of the gift.
Over the phone he asks if I will please open the card back up and write at the bottom "Your husband, George."
I grin and say, "Oh? but I bet she'll know it's you, George."
"Well...sometimes she does and sometimes she doesn't," he replies.
My heart falls. I assure him I will sign his card for him. He thanks me graciously and ends the call.
The address to the recipient I find is in a nursing home.
Inside the card George has written "Sweetheart. I love you bunches and miss you so much, so please stay healthy."


O George, you have killed me.

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concretekiss

August 2010

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