The Present

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had a thing for surprises and presents.  April knew that about me, and she occasionally surprised me with a little something that she wouldn’t let me see until “after” – supper, the lawn, Friday, whatever.  After “after”, I’d get the present and make a big deal out of it, and she’d make fun of me for being silly about it.  It was one of our little routines to entertain ourselves.

I should say at this point that April liked the routine as long as I wasn’t buying any surprises for her (other than flowers, chocolate, or jewelry, of course).  April much preferred to tell me exactly what she wanted, then act pleasantly surprised when it arrived on a birthday, holiday, or date night.  Once I finally (kind of sort of) figured out that she liked “surprises” instead of SURPRISE!, our little love affair took an exceptional leap forward.

So, when April whispered to me a couple days before she passed away, “I bought you a present,” then fell asleep, I was slightly beside myself trying to figure out if she really got me something that I should try to find and thank her for…or if she was just messing with me.  It turned out to be the last thing she said to me, other than a few “I love you”s, which, of course, were the real presents all along.

April’s mention of a present for me stayed in my mind after she passed.  When I found a shopping bag this morning that had a men’s lined wool shirt in it, I thought I’d found the present.  It immediately made me cry to think that, and I stood in the spot taking the pins out, unbuttoning the shirt, shaking it out, and trying not to cry the whole time.

Then I put my right arm through the sleeve, and just about ripped the shirt in half trying to get the other sleeve on.  I felt such a comedic relief that the shirt wasn’t for me, that it wasn’t the present.  I think I like the idea of the surprise waiting out there for me.

Or maybe the present really was just to be loved, after all.