On: The Gift of Reeses

The Gift of Reeses

Colleen Rogers

As we approach the romance of Valentines’ Day, I am reminded of the last present I received from my husband as part of a seasonal gift-giving event. 

In a holiday offering gifted to me this past Christmas Day, my beloved life partner presented me with…

…One ginormous two-pound package of…

…Reeses Peanut Butter Cups…

That. Was. It.   

The totality of my Christmas stash was purchased at our local Walgreens. 

Like any of the Real Housewives of Wherever would demonstrate, I was not happy with the lack of dazzling bling.  This “gift” caused an effective two day work stoppage in our otherwise solid marriage.  I was hurt, angry, and confused. 

You may condemn me for my vacuous lack of appreciation, for the soulless shallow of my womanhood, or for the dismantling of my husband’s attempts at generosity, but there’s a prequel and a sequel…

Two years ago, as I was approaching retirement after 35 years as a high school teacher, I had envisioned a series of events that would set our couple’s course joyfully into the next breezy chapter of our lives. 

I had hoped for a small, but semi-posh, vow renewal ceremony, followed by a sort of second honeymoon.  As a team, the two of us had nearly made it across the finish line.  We had survived job changes, moves, the losses of family, friends and pets, and had literally warrior-punched anything that the fates had tossed our way. We did it all in lock-step, with Ninja-like precision.   

Of course, without warning, life’s other shoe dropped.  On a sunny, nondescript Monday, only a few weeks shy of my retirement, I was found slumped over the steering wheel of my car.  I only woke after two hospital transits by ambulance, seeing my brother sobbing at my bedside, and peeping the horrific image of a cardiologist’s crappy poker face.  My unwanted pacemaker was installed that Thursday, and like a taped up broken bird, I was folded in my couch at home on Friday.

I did not know, until much later, that my husband (by virtue of phone tracking technology) “saw” me ride toward the hospital.  He witnessed them “giving me the paddles” in the emergency room, and he handled our collective trauma silently and protectively.

I squeaked through the final days of my retirement festivities, but I struggled for over two years.  I suffered from seizure medication side effects, fearful sleepless nights, failed attempts to return to work, and inept efforts to “normalize” my life.   

It was only this week, a few days shy of Valentine’s Day, that I remembered our trip to Walgreens.  It was there, in the cozy fall, that my husband had innocuously and coyly asked me what I wanted for Christmas.

I laughingly responded, “All I want this year is a giant Reeses”. 

At the time, my joking request had symbolized the simple, immediate joy of having the girl cure-all—a worry-free bar of chocolate.  In actuality, my “Santa note” had really represented a flashback to the time in our lives when we would spend our last $2.00 on ice cream, and we never worried about being well or paying our bills.

Flash forward, it hit me at all at once--the sudden Zen-like realization that we never needed any more “bling” than each other’s humor and company  finally sunk in.  It was only this week, in one illuminating moment, that I realized  that my husband’s charming, silly gift was his own loving promise to me that he would always honor and celebrate my simplest requests in the most ginormous way.

Happy Valentine’s Day, and don’t forget the chocolate…

;)

Photo copy of Pinterest:
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/28429041367450126/