Don’t send me flowers

Please don’t send me flowers. I know you mean well. I know you’re only doing it because you don’t know what else to do. Honestly, I don’t know either. All I know is, I don’t think I’ll want to see another flower for a long time.

It’s funny how something that typically brings such joy can become a symbol of such sorrow, that something so bright and colorful appears when the world should be dark and gray.

There were so many flowers at her funeral. So many people commented on them, saying how much she would have loved them. They were right; she would have. But she wasn’t there to appreciate them. She’ll never be here. It’s just me now. And as much as I try, I can’t appreciate them.

I can’t look at a bouquet and admire the soft colors or take in the intricate patterns of the delicate petals. I can’t enjoy their aroma that fills the room. All I can do is remember her and remind myself that she’s not here to enjoy them.

Please don’t send me flowers.