A woman gave me flowers at Walmart; I didn’t save them for my wife

The other night I went to Walmart to buy formula for my son. I’ll be honest; it wasn’t a good trip at first.

Traffic was annoying. The parking lot was fulI. But what really put me in a bad mood was the process of picking up the baby formula itself.

Although I give my wife flowers every year, I didn’t give her those daisies.

It used to be available for anyone to grab right off the shelf. Now, in yet another sign of the erosion of basic social trust, it’s been moved to the front of the store, where it’s kept under lock and key.

Bad mood rising

This turned a quick errand into something way too complicated. Granted, getting someone to unlock the formula cabinet only cost me an extra five minutes, but in Bad Mood Time that’s more like 20.

It didn’t help that I now had to be escorted with the formula to the checkout line. Thanks, shoplifters.

As I impatiently waited to check out and go home, I noticed that the woman in front of me was buying flowers alongside what looked like the ingredients for a fun date night.

“Have you ever bought flowers for a man?” she asked the cashier.

The cashier responded “no.”

“I buy my husband flowers every year,” said the woman. “Men don’t ever get flowers until the day they die.”

First time for everything

I saw her look my way. I said, “I’ve never been bought flowers.” The man behind me said the same.

The woman then asked the cashier to add two more bouquets to her tally. She turned to us and said, “I’m buying you guys flowers. Give them to your wives or kid, but this way, at least you were given flowers before you die.”

And sure enough, as I walked out, the woman found me and gave me a bouquet of daisies.

Here’s what she didn’t know. Although I give my wife flowers every year, I didn’t give her those daisies.

I gave them to another woman, a woman I also think of every year right around this time.

Visiting a friend

She was a friend of mine. Thirteen years ago this month, I lost her to suicide. I was the last person ever to text her. I had been trying to help her through a recent tragedy. In the end, my help wasn’t enough to prevent the outcome I feared.

She is buried near my house. I visit her every year around the anniversary of her death. I always leave her a bouquet of flowers and a little horse figurine (she loved horses).

This year, my friend will get two bouquets. I’m thankful for that woman in line at Walmart. Her simple act of generosity freed me from my selfish misery — my irritation, my impatience — by directing my attention to an old, dear friend. Not a bad lesson for Valentine’s Day.