I chose to wait a week or so to review Valentines Day, figuring most of you would be addled with an overdose of chocolate, delectable food, and wine. Hopefully you can focus again, now that it has all leached from your system.
For newer readers, a reminder: I'm a 62-year old professional, single woman, trying desperately to make sense of my life. I don't really know how I got here, either. Thus, I write about it, and take you along with me. Maybe it will help all of us, who knows.
Over the years, I've enjoyed some very traditional Valentine's Day celebrations with "the man in my life" at the time. Hearts, candy, beautiful cards, dinners over candlelight, the complete package. However, I also lived alone for long stretches of time, raising my daughter and attempting to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. February 14th during those times was often marked with cards that we gave each other before we rushed out the door to daycare or basketball practice or one of my multiple jobs. And a jab of regret that I was alone.
And I'm alone again. My daughter is even grown now, celebrating with her own Valentine.
Last year I still longed for the red hearts and other flotsam of Valentine's Day, specifically from A MAN. Someone pledging his undying love, just for me. Without it, the day was empty and incredibly sad. At those times, all you can see is what everyone seems to have, except you. Hearts can literally break into pieces, I learned first hand, jagged edges scraping your soul raw with pain.
It was different for me this year, though. At some point over the past year, I had a chat with myself. I reflected on the love I've given and received over the years, some of it with great passion, all of it a gift in itself. There are people walking around who have never experienced great love, have never had any red hearts shared with them at all. I have also come to accept me, the person who looks back at me in the mirror in the morning, bedhead, puffy eyes and all.
So, what did I do this year? I made sure, in concrete ways, that important people in my life know they are loved, no matter how far away they are. As I worked that day, I reflected on my many accomplishments, my past relationships, all of them hard won and teachers in themselves. My 85-year old mother lives with me now, her Valentine of nearly 70 years recently gone. Her first year without him. I can't even imagine.
We had a wonderful, candlelit dinner anyway, complete with delectable food and drink. We celebrated with crimson hearts and silky ribbons, mouth-watering candy, and fragrant flowers. There was no sibilant whisper lurking in the shadows, attemping to convince me that I am somehow not enough.
And I had no regret.
For newer readers, a reminder: I'm a 62-year old professional, single woman, trying desperately to make sense of my life. I don't really know how I got here, either. Thus, I write about it, and take you along with me. Maybe it will help all of us, who knows.
Over the years, I've enjoyed some very traditional Valentine's Day celebrations with "the man in my life" at the time. Hearts, candy, beautiful cards, dinners over candlelight, the complete package. However, I also lived alone for long stretches of time, raising my daughter and attempting to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. February 14th during those times was often marked with cards that we gave each other before we rushed out the door to daycare or basketball practice or one of my multiple jobs. And a jab of regret that I was alone.
And I'm alone again. My daughter is even grown now, celebrating with her own Valentine.
Last year I still longed for the red hearts and other flotsam of Valentine's Day, specifically from A MAN. Someone pledging his undying love, just for me. Without it, the day was empty and incredibly sad. At those times, all you can see is what everyone seems to have, except you. Hearts can literally break into pieces, I learned first hand, jagged edges scraping your soul raw with pain.
It was different for me this year, though. At some point over the past year, I had a chat with myself. I reflected on the love I've given and received over the years, some of it with great passion, all of it a gift in itself. There are people walking around who have never experienced great love, have never had any red hearts shared with them at all. I have also come to accept me, the person who looks back at me in the mirror in the morning, bedhead, puffy eyes and all.
So, what did I do this year? I made sure, in concrete ways, that important people in my life know they are loved, no matter how far away they are. As I worked that day, I reflected on my many accomplishments, my past relationships, all of them hard won and teachers in themselves. My 85-year old mother lives with me now, her Valentine of nearly 70 years recently gone. Her first year without him. I can't even imagine.
We had a wonderful, candlelit dinner anyway, complete with delectable food and drink. We celebrated with crimson hearts and silky ribbons, mouth-watering candy, and fragrant flowers. There was no sibilant whisper lurking in the shadows, attemping to convince me that I am somehow not enough.
And I had no regret.
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