It was supposed to be a quick stop for cheap pool noodles, but that otherwise forgettable trip to the Dollar Tree ended up serving up something far more substantial than a colorful piece of flexible Styrofoam at a deeply discounted price. The storm clouds overhead were huddled together, conspiring to let loose at any moment with a soaker that would make you wish you’d remembered the umbrella you always forget – or that they sold them at the Dollar Tree – and really, what kind of umbrella would you get for just $1.25?

I was cranky, feeling blue, and a little put out at having to stop at the Dollar Tree in the first place – no one’s favorite store on its best day. But there I was, pulling into the parking lot, hearing the sound of the car doors locking, and hoping to make it a quick trip because I, certainly, had better ways to spend my time. But out in front of the store, right next to the festive mecca of pool noodles in at least six of the colors of the rainbow, was a hunched over, nattily dressed old man, delicately picking his way through a cardboard wall filled with holes that were stuffed with plastic flowers.

There were fake daisies and chrysanthemums, roses of all colors (both natural and those not of nature at all), strands of faux lavender and sunflowers, too. The man, who had to be in his eighties, appeared to be alone in the universe, totally focused on selecting a tiny, perfect bouquet. His knobby, misshapen fingers plucked out one blossom at a time, holding them up and looking them over as though he was about to perform major surgery and needed the perfect instrument. Something about the delicate fronds of color in his gnarled and twisted fingers made me stop and watch – momentarily paused in my own insignificant errand. When he finally turned his gaze away from the phony forget-me-nots in his hand and looked my way, I felt as if I’d been caught – gaping at this old man trying to create beauty at a bargain.

“Excuse me, young lady,” he queried gently, making me positive that age had not only robbed him of strength and speed but also his eyesight. “Which flowers do you think would make my wife smile?”

“Hmmm. It depends upon the occasion, I suppose,” I stammered, wondering if he had seen me watching him. If he had, he didn’t seem bothered a bit. Instead, he seemed grateful to have a chance to ask a woman’s opinion, as if I were the sales assistant at a high-end retail shoppe where men were told what their wives would appreciate in a gift and absolved of their lack of knowledge of their spouse’s tastes.

“It’s the anniversary of our first date, and I want to make sure she knows I remembered and brought her a small gift. I don’t ever want her to think she isn’t the most beautiful woman I ever met – or ever will.” He held out the three tiny strands he’d selected for my perusal. “Will these do?”

It seemed such a tiny bouquet for a love that was clearly so big, and I must have said as much with my eyes. His gaze waivered just a bit, and he appeared almost apologetic as he said, “These times are a little tight, my dear. Inflation is hard at any age, but it seems most cruel to those of us in our final chapters. I’m hoping she’ll understand that the intention was, at least, grand. It’s 63 years today since we first met, and I still remember how nervous I was – tongue-tied and starstruck, and how I couldn’t sleep at all that night because I didn’t think I could even breathe without her by my side. She was my moonlight, North Star, and the first hope of spring that comes when the crocuses and daffodils begin to peek through the snow, daring it to keep them down. She was my world, and even if I can’t give the world to her, I’m hoping she’ll understand.”

I certainly understood, and I knew that just as the sky might burst open and begin to weep profusely at any moment, so might I. We who have lost loved ones seem to all become experts at hiding our burdens and pretending we’re not half as lonely as we really are, don’t we? I looked at him again and began to reach towards the display of flowers poked into the cardboard wall. Plucking out a couple of French Lilacs, a single lily, two cheerful sunflowers, and some Brown-Eyed Susans, I wordlessly began to string together a spontaneous bouquet, weaving in the three strands he’d already selected. He started to protest, but I’d already begun to herd us into the shop and towards the cards and ribbons section, confident in or mission of love – the pool noodles I’d come in for completely and rightfully forgotten. Wasn’t lifelong love worth a few extra moments of my afternoon?

When we’d found the perfect ribbon, “cornflower blue – nearly as lovely as her eyes,” he’d said, I insisted on allowing me to purchase the flowers, since 63 years is a surely a cause for celebration, and it would be an honor to participate by marking their love in such a small way. I told him that honestly, I couldn’t imagine experiencing that kind of love for even half as long. He smiled and said, “The magic is that love finds you in the place and time when you need it most.” I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but figured the Dollar Tree checkout lane wasn’t the place to begin such a lofty dialogue with an old man I’d just met. As we checked out, I asked if he needed a ride back home from the store.

“Oh no, dear,” he smiled. I’ve got one more stop to make, and it’s only a couple of blocks anyway, but aren’t you kind to offer a stranger a ride.” Suddenly, I realized that’s exactly what I was – a stranger, and I immediately felt guilty for having jumped in and inserted myself into what had been a very personal errand for him.

“I am so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be pushy or even to take over your special gift shopping. It’s just that…”

He didn’t allow me to finish, but I could see from his face that there was no need to apologize. He took my hand in his and walked out the door, briefly tilting his head heavenward.

“Thank you, dear, for helping to make this a most special anniversary. My bride will be delighted to hear about the expert assistance I received in selecting the flowers for such an auspicious occasion. And oh dear, we’d both better bid adieu because it looks like it’s going to rain, and we both have important things to do.”

I got back in my car and waved as I backed out of my parking spot, the pool noodles – the whole reason for the stop, forgotten completely. As I drove out of the parking lot and onto the street, I remembered them, but suddenly, a colorful flotation device seemed incredibly insignificant and I knew I had a more important errand to run. Thankfully, living in a small town makes it easy to change one’s mind, and before long, I was pulling into the quiet of the town cemetery, down through the gravestones in the front of the long-dead and down the lane that led to where my grandparents’ graves were.

I would like to say that the old man had reminded me of the importance of respecting elders, or that maybe he reminded me of my own grandparents, but that hadn’t been the case. Maybe he just reminded me that we all need to be acknowledged and feel loved, and one of those gravestones signified the magic love of one who had always made me feel wanted and acknowledged. I left my car at the end of the laneway and walked the four graves in to where my grandmother was enjoying a well-earned eternal rest, first kneeling to clear the stone of any pollen and debris and then sitting, leaning back on the stone for support, the same way I’d leaned on my grandmother for support so many times during my youth.

The sky was still grey and the clouds angry, but the breeze felt cool on my forehead as I sat, eyes closed, thinking about loves that last a lifetime and wondering how many could say they’d been in love for 63 weeks, much less 63 years like the old man with the flowers. As I sat with the ghost of my grandmother and the memories I cherished, I felt the same calm come over me as had come when we’d last seen one another, when we both knew it would be our last time together. I let that calm settle over me like a warm sweater on a cold afternoon, and I knew these moments had been a mystical gift from her to me. I didn’t know how long I’d been sitting there, but when it was time to re-enter the world of the living, I was feeling a little lighter and more loved.

As I started to walk back up the laneway to get back into my car and head home, my attention was captured by something I saw in my peripheral vision – something colorful and bright in a place where nearly everything was simply green and grey. There, three laneways down and a little closer to the end of the row, was the little old man from the Dollar Tree. He was holding the bunch of flowers we’d gathered together and was bent over a gravestone giving it a tender kiss before laying the flowers carefully at the base of the headstone and turning to walk back the way he had come, just as the sky opened up and it started to rain.