This morning I was running late and trying to understand why I only saw two pairs of black shoes when I know every other pair of shoes I buy are black.
I looked in a couple of closets and found all kinds of shoes and boots but none that were black. Finally, I looked under the bed and I found some of my black shoes.
But I also found a shoebox. I looked in it just in case Mr. SLS had put a pair of my shoes in it and what I found were his passport, his birth certificate, a copy of our marriage license and all the love letters I wrote to him in April 2006 when I went to Africa. Every last one. Ordered by date.
I didn't have time to cry about it, but I can't even begin to tell you how much that meant to me in that moment. It also didn't hurt that I told him how I felt about the flower and card and when I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep in the middle of the night he talked to me and rubbed my back until I could nod off (<--yes, I'm a 3-year-old).
Maybe I'll keep the little orchid. Maybe.