Laying awake in the middle of the night I decided to write about heart. I wasn’t sure where I was going with the idea.
My father always gave my mother fancy, flowery romantic Valentines. Then she would have him frame them for her. When she died we found them with her things – some still hung on the wall of their assisted living home. One hung on the wall of Dad’s apartment until he died years after Mother. Dad was the romantic. He’d walk in after a long day in his TV repair shop and dip mom back and give her a big smooch. She’d respond “Glenn, not in front of the children.” Of course we loved it.
My dad died just a year ago. At 95 he confessed to me his sorrow that before mom died he laid down beside her on her hospital bed and held her. She told him how sad she was that he hadn’t held her for a very long time.
This is a Valentine to my parents whose love for each other supported me and my brothers and sister and cousins. It is also a reminder to all of us that we need to be told that we are loved. We need cards and candy, homemade or storebought. And we need to be hugged and held, tickled and danced, tucked in with stories and kisses, and greeted with a smile in the morning. Today and tomorrow and forever. Happy Valentine’s Day.