My wife wouldn’t smile Valentine’s Day.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to smile. She had a surgical procedure to remove a basil cell skin cancer just above her upper lip. The procedure was outpatient, not lengthy, and considered low in risk. The first stage was the removal of the cancer itself by physician number one; the second step was reconstructive surgery by surgeon number two. All went well, but as warned, a painful recovery time was part of the anticipated routine. Saturday and Sunday after Friday’s surgery would be particularly uncomfortable. Eating was difficult, talking hurt, smiling out of the question. A romantic Valentine’s Day would wait for another year.
Partly to ease the absence of our Valentine’s weekend, I was determined at least to get her a card. Quickly shuffling through the Valentine section of cards while waiting for her prescriptions to be filled, I almost instantly chanced upon the one I wanted. It spoke to the occasion: “My Wife: All the beauty in the world is in your smile.”
I hurried to the cashier, anxious to get back to the surgical clinic before Lori was out of surgery. I waited in line, behind only one person, a young lady who placed an arsenal of cosmetics on the counter. The cashier was an older woman, who seemed unperturbed, even philosophical, in responding to the young lady’s questions about the kind of make-up she was purchasing. “You young people seem so intent on looking just right,” she commented to the youthful buyer, “and you just don’t know how beautiful you really are.” The cashier seemed like the kind of person who paid attention to people, so I paid attention to her.
Then it was my turn. I handed her the card. She rang it up. “That will be $7.43,”she said.
“$7.43. Dang! That’s expensive,” I muttered to myself. “Ma’am, I didn’t realize that card was that much. Could you do a return, and let me get another?”
“Sure, I can do that,” our sage cashier responded, “but first let me ask you a question.” I sensed the prophetess was about to ask me something the answer of which might perhaps reveal the future, or disclose something about myself or life that I was unaware of. “Does the card say what you want it to say to your Valentine?” she asked.
“Well, yes,” I hesitatingly responded, “as a matter of fact, it does. She is having surgery at this moment, and won’t be able to smile for a while, and this card has a line about a smile, and I thought it might be some little thing that would make her feel better, and it is Valentine’s Day Sunday, you know,” I blurted out, telling her more than I had intended.
“Then,” she said, “If it says what you want it to say, it will speak to her heart, and she will smile, she will smile.”
And so the purchase was made.
On Valentine’s Day, I gave Lori the card. “My Wife: All the beauty of the world is in your smile.”
She tried to smile, but couldn’t.
Most smiles are obvious; they are written on the face. Some smiles are hidden. To see them you have to look deeper, into the heart.
I looked for the smile deep within and said, “No need to smile.”
No need, indeed.
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