The Summer of '93

A surprise delivery

So my 23rd Birthday arrived. Mum bought me a gorgeous bangle and had given it to me two months ago. It was a gold double bangle with swirled diamond cut gold with a central garnet in the middle. The gift was very beautiful. Dad, who I saw infrequently, bought me odds and sods of things that he would have bought (but were of no interest to me anymore) several years ago, but I accepted them graciously. I vowed that despite the recent downturn I was going to grab life by the throat, turn it around and this was going to turn out to be a great year.

Just then there was a knock at the door mid-morning and Mum answered. She shouted me over. "Megan, come and look at this!"

"What is it?" I replied?

"Come and look!"

I stood behind her as she signed a clipboard. I watched the Courier turn back up the drive – it said "Interflora" in letters and I was shocked and surprised – well it was my birthday but who would be sending interflora?

What was even more of a shock was what had been delivered! It was an ornamental fig – a ficus pumila. I did love my plants but this really was a memorable plant. I would have understood an orchid plant or roses.

"What a strange thing to send!" Mum exclaimed. "Who has sent it? It's not from your little Scottish drummer boy!"

"He's not my little Scottish drummer boy!" I said.

I picked up the small envelope pinned to it and nearly fell over with surprise:

"Happy Birthday, Love, Dionisis x"

I filled up with emotion. He must love me I thought. Every fibre of my being resonated with happiness and delight. I was completely puzzled at the choice but then I thought – if I'm careful it will last a lifetime! It was nearly as big as me and very heavy. It took nearly both of us to bring it in.

It's a curious gesture but giving it some thought, I thought, if they were flowers they would just die like my rose (I still treasured the petals.) But by sending a plant the gesture announces that although out of sight, still thinking about you and in my heart. A fig is going to last.

"Where are you going to put it?" Mum asked.

"Would it get enough light in my bedroom?"

"Yes but there's nothing to sit it on. Well Megan, that's certainly a memorable gift."

"I bet I can guarantee that I will never receive a gift like that ever again!"

These days if I received this I would be linked on Facebook, take a photo and share it for the world to see. Those days it was a phone call over to Germany – with the German "baaa, baaa" tone and no answer. I wrote him a letter of thanks. I enthused about how delighted I was with it, and what a thoughtful, kind thing it was to do. I thought there might be a phone call or a reply over the coming weeks. Nothing. I had to accept that for him, it was over. I didn't want to believe it but I knew there was no hope to be had. My fig tree must have been a parting gift. I thought giving him some space would give him the chance to reflect on how happy we had been together. I blamed his Aunt as she clearly disapproved of what was going on between us. But she wasn't to blame; if he'd really cared he would have fought for me. It's curious how these events shape and scar. Thinking back we said our goodbyes, but he never asked me when we were going to see each other again. He never talked about visiting me in the UK and he would have been very welcome. None of those conversations took place and now, it was completely out of my hands.

My soul was desperately lonely and i felt like I'd finally met my interlectual equal. Dionisis had touched my heart by demonstrating selfless kindness. It had been both an emotional and physical connection. I felt a connection and soul connection and that was now brutally ripped from me. I felt more isolated and desperately lonely. It was more now than ever because I had had a taste of what it had felt like and how it had gone. The fig was an echo of that soul connection. Surely he felt it too?