VALENTINE

Cynic, I am not.

Realist, I am.

Wife.  Mom.  Grown-Up.

   

I tell the truth.

Present the facts.

Today’s fact: Valentine’s Day is dreadful.

My teenage and twenty-something self would read the sentence I just wrote and determine that my grown-up self is sad, pitiful, and in desperate need of love and affection.

My grown-up self reflects upon my teenage/twenty-something self and longs to hurdle back through time and give that girl a clue.

Seriously. How many romantic, mushy, loving, darling, or treacle notes/ideas/plans/surprises can one person possibly imagine or execute in a decade?

Warning: Stop reading at once if you responded to that rhetorical question, and the response was “Lots!”

Truth: Valentine’s Day is not about love.

  

It has little to do with Passionate Love; love that is spontaneous, thrilling, heartbreaking, unpredictable, exhilarating.

  

It has nothing to do with True Love; love that is real. Genuine. Lasting.

Nowadays, Valentine’s Day feels like Halloween combined with New Year’s Eve - on the store shelves too soon, and packaged with way too many expectations.

Rewind to the Pre-K classroom. Valentine’s Day is Super-hero and Disney princess fold-up postcards that little fingers have little room to scribble on, little ability to fold and tuck, and little time to shove into 27 construction paper mailboxes.  (Note: it takes till 2^nd grade to learn the Will You Be My V-A-L-E-N-T-I-N-E song and spelling.)

Rewind to Elementary School.  Ditto Pre-K Valentine’s Day, with boxes of brittle candy hearts and chewy things that dislodge baby teeth taped onto those postcards.  Insert first stages of critical thought: “Why do I have to give all these Sour Patch Kids to a bunch of silly girls?”

Rewind to Middle School. Valentine’s day is…. ?  Sorry. I erased middle school from my memory years ago.

Rewind to High School. Valentine’s Day should be called ‘Carn-angst Day’. Will I receive any crinkly blossoms? Will I receive more than my friends? Will I receive only from my friends?  What colors will the carnations be?  Am I white- popular, pink-admired, and/or red- adored?  Am I not?

Haven’t yet found love? Valentine’s Day depresses and irritates.

Suffering from unrequited love?  Valentine’s Day hurts.

Falling in love? Valentine’s Day is a mine field of pressure, and potential disappointment.

Still in love? Valentine’s Day is the day to prove it- or at the very least, remember it.

Disclosure: I am still a Valentine’s Day groupie.

I own cookie cutters in the shapes of X’s and O’s, pouty lips, and six different sized hearts.

I turn on love songs and twinkly lights, stuff mailboxes with heart-stickered postcards, and sing that silly V-A-L-E-N-T-I-N-E song with my kids- even after they leave for college.

  

But I never understood until 24 hours ago what it means to be a Forever Valentine.

Someone’s True Love.

Back story: My mom’s lifelong friend, Julia, died a few months ago after a lengthy battle with cancer.  Her marriage to Tim was the ideal that my siblings and I aspired to when we were young, and newly married. Friends for decades, we never saw this couple argue, snap at, chide or ignore each other.

This past Labor Day, I was visiting with my parents, Julia and Tim at a weekend barbecue. The conversation segued to marriage.Tim made a joke. Julia looked at him with great annoyance and said, “Are you going to tell that joke again, dear? We’ve heard it 764 times. This week.”

The banter, teasing, and commands-veiled-as-suggestions began, and I realized that this ‘one-of-a-kind’ couple was just like the rest of us long-time couples: utterly devoted and utterly flawed.

Fast forward to yesterday morning. I called mom to ask if she had heard from Tim; now a widower of two months, spending his first Valentine's Day without his love of half a century.

 

“Just last week he sent me a birthday card,” mom answered. “Julia never missed a birthday or holiday, and Tim is determined to carry on that tradition in her memory.”

Expectations surpassed.  

Signs and songs, carnations and cut-outs, trinkets and truffles on Valentine’s Day will always just be a shout-out to the ideal that our society identifies as “love.” We can make sure every school kid gets a valentine, a box of candy hearts and a carnation, but we can never guarantee that each of us will experience Real Love.

Love that reaches long past a February day.

Love that extends even beyond life; when One Half of a Whole lives on for his beloved, sharing her love with those she left behind, though he will never again see, touch, tease, chide, laugh with or be loved by her.

  

On this earth.

Julia would be delighted that Tim, her Forever Valentine, is continuing to love and honor her in ways big and small.

  

I'd like my Forever Valentine to draw up the shades - long past bedtime - and search the night sky for the stars that I loved. Listen to children, cellos, rain and wind. Plant too many flowers and trees. Sing. Play in the surf. Make meals worthy of a colossal mess in the kitchen, and share them with family, friends, and people in need. Love too much. Travel too far.

Expectations surpassed.

QUING Hereby Decrees: Long past that February Day, by all means, love.