Birthdays and flowers and travels and God

My daughter called to tell me that someone had left a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a card at the door. I had left for North Carolina the day before, on Friday. I didn't need to be in North Carolina until Saturday, but I was feeling restless. So I hurriedly packed and hit the road.

Mom was happy to see me. She and Charles took me to a new restaurant and treated me to a delicious steak dinner for my birthday. On the ride home I asked mom, "Have you heard from Aunt Sallie?" Mom seemed puzzled about why I would even ask, so I reminded her, "You know, today is the day William died." Mom just said, "Oh," and neither of us said much more after that. It was late; the interior of the car was dark, and I pretended to be very interested in the view from the passenger window.

The drive to North Carolina had been quiet. I did a lot of thinking. Sometimes I'd laugh and sometimes I'd cry. Eventually I did listen to the radio, but most of the trip the only noise I heard were the tires, the engine, and my raging thoughts.

A lot has happened in 26 years. I got married and divorced. Me and God raised two beautiful children. I went to undergrad, graduate school, and law school. And 26 times I lived through October, November, and December.

October is always a hard month for me, and November isn't much better. William was my best friend; he died in October--26 years ago--and we buried him on my birthday. Twenty-six days later, in November, we buried my dad. Nineteen days later, in December, is William's birthday. So, for 26 years I have said, if I can get through Christmas, the worst is behind me. But those last three months of the year are hard--hard, indeed.

My son, Wes, is 20 years old; the same age as William when he died. Don't think I'm not cognizant of that. Wes is the main reason why I traveled home a day early; I felt like I had to see him. I had to touch him, hug him, hear his voice, and just listen to him talk. On Saturday morning I couldn't get to him fast enough, and I spent every possible moment with him (which he would probably define as "smothering"). We spent the day together, until he had to go to work; and then I returned to Mom's. On Sunday, Mom cooked a fabulous lunch in my honor. There was so much food and so many people there, it was like a prelude to Thanksgiving. Wes came for dinner, but had to leave early for work; I hit the road soon thereafter.

By the time I got home I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. Many birthday cards awaited me, and the bouquet of flowers that my daughter had placed in a vase with the sealed card propped against it. Who would have given me flowers for my birthday? I was intrigued, but I must have spent ten minutes just looking at the card--trying to solve the mystery before opening it. But, if I had made a thousand guesses, I would have never gotten it right. When I finally gave up my guessing game and opened the card, it read, "I know today is a tough day for you and I have been thinking about you all day. I have prayed that God would comfort you with great memories of your cousin that make you smile. Thoughts and prayers....and happy early birthday."

So, who sent the card and flowers? It had to be you. Only you know about William. Only you who read this blog. Only you who know where I live. So, to you, I say thank you so much for the flowers. They were (and still are) beautiful. And what a wonderful reminder they are that God knows our every hurt, and our every thought--even those we don't even bear to whisper, while traveling down the highway trying to outrun the pain.