remember my first Valentine’s Day after he died.
I was living with my dad - cause that’s what you do when you become a widow at 24 and you’ve used up all your money (and then some) on living expenses when he was sick.
I tried not to think about it all day and stayed home in my pj’s - in my bedroom.
But when my dad came home from work he brought me a single red rose.
He gave it to me in the kitchen - when I came out of hiding for a glass of water.
A sweet gesture of fatherly love.
And, I lost it. I mean completely lost it.
I fell into my daddy’s arms and sobbed uncontrollably.
Poor guy - a natural stoic with a sensitive heart - probably didn’t know what hit him.
He held me. And, he didn’t say anything.
At the time, I kinda wished he did because I wanted out of my pain.
I wanted someone to change the subject.
To make a joke.
But he just stood there holding me while I cried uncontrollably into his shoulder.
Even though this is an image of absolute perfection.
And, my dad did everything right...
When I was done, I left the room silently -feeling heartbreakingly...guilty.
Like I was the biggest burden on earth.
Like I single-handedly ruined Valentine’s Day.
But looking back, on this today, It all just looks like love.
A whole lot of love.
The rose. The hug. The silence.
Even the pj’s in my bedroom.
Self preservation. It’s love.
It was all love.
I’m sharing this with you today because, I imagine that I’m not alone.
I imagine there are others out there too that feel as though they’ve ruined Valentine’s Day.
And, I want you to know that you are not alone - even though I know it feels like it.
I hear you. And, I’m here for you.
Holding you in my heart
And, sending so much love...
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