Wildflowers to be Found

Something has changed. Wandering the empty aisles of Walmart and feeling a bit lost on this sparse Sunday night… I walked past a mother and daughter looking at Halloween greeting cards. These two women, one about 55 and the other perhaps 20, were of similar stature and disposition. Barely five feet tall and leaning toward the shelves of orange and black cards, their heads and eyes were raised in eager attention to silently read every word before them.

It was a scene like any other, but something within the observer had changed. The moment seemed different to me.

Despite the ample room on every side, these two women huddled close to one another as they examined the greeting cards. Their private affection for a shared physical proximity, for the sweet experience of reading each card together, reminded me of two small hens choosing to sit side by side in an open space. The gesture communicated warmth and love, a familiarity and longevity in their relationship. They liked to be with one another.

Enraptured by the hundreds of choices before them, with eyes wide and clear, mouths slightly agape at the anticipation of finding something interesting to share, perhaps a witty turn of phrase, a silly pumpkin or black cat cartoon, these two were just enjoying the moment. It really didn’t matter what they were studying in particular. I was seeing their true activity—just being together, in love with the mere idea of picking out a card at 9pm while the rest of the town settled down for a cold October night.

I slowed my pace as I passed the two shoppers, both now completely mesmerized by something on the top shelf. I was tempted to stop and tell these two little ones that their presence made me smile on that lonely Walmart meandering, that their love for one another and for just spending a few minutes picking out “the perfect card” was so endearing to me, and that I so cherished this scene as to consider telling them as much…

But I held my tongue and only smiled to myself as I moved past the quiet scene in the center of this empty store. Little women do not need random men talking to them at Walmart at night. Besides, it was their moment together. They had important business to conduct, and I was completely happy as a silent witness rather than an interloper.

Something has changed within me, and I find myself more sensitive to the subtleties of life. The thoughtful sweeping of a broom, the careful sip of a beverage, the inflection of a single word exchanged between friends or strangers. And sometimes a visit to Walmart can be beautiful, as though experienced in the pages of a novel by Dickens or Capote. There is beauty to be experienced in all directions. I think I knew that was possible, but with every day, I am learning more about this fascinating place.

Perhaps this is part of the grieving process of losing Isaac physically. Yes, the aimless wandering through a vacuous Walmart landscape… but also finding the quiet beauty that reminds me of his pensive nature. We used to talk about moments like this, and it feels comforting to imagine that I may have absorbed some of his sensitivity and mindfulness, even as I lost him physically in my life.

The absurdity of Walmart is something that deserves a second look, to go beyond the raw consumerism and capitalism of it all, beyond the supply chains and ridiculous parking lots, to find a deeper intricacy and substructure that surpasses all the technologies and systems of our modern age. There is something eternal to be found in the quiet search for the perfect greeting card. It is a mother and daughter, as timeless and natural as a simple walk amidst wildflowers in an ancient forest. And it was beautiful.