I don’t know how it is after the first year, but the “special” days, they hit hard when they’re the firsts.
February 14. The dreaded Valentine’s Day, when couples are supposed to show their love for each other. When Facebook posts are sappy. When date night is expected and maybe even a little grown ups only time afterwards, if you get what I mean.
I dreaded this day coming just like I dreaded our birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas and New Year’s. Because for the first time in a couple of decades, I didn’t have a Valentine.
I decided to just make the best of it and hung out with the kids, like a regular Friday. As I was in the shower, Asa came banging on the door. Ugh. What is it with kids and interrupting Mom in the bathroom? But I digress.
Anyway, he comes to the bathroom door and yells, “Mom, there’s a bag of stuff for you.”
“What? What bag? What stuff? Where? What are you talking about?”
“Valentine’s stuff. At the front door.”
And there was.
A beautiful dozen roses, which are exactly what Vance would have sent me because he was very traditional about such things. A thoughtful card with a wonderful personal note (not shown here, because well, personal, you know.) and a bag full of many of my favorite things.
You guys. I have the best friends. The very, very best.
The card wasn’t signed but I have my suspicions about which friend was sneaky enough to drop it at my door and run.
Can I just say to you one thing? Be the kind of friend who, seven months later, remembers. Be the friend who sends the flowers on Valentine’s Day or the card on their anniversary or his birthday. Be the friend who sends the text on a Tuesday, just to check in. Don’t forget. Don’t think it gets easier, because it doesn’t.
Knowing your people have your back, that makes it bearable. It gives strength and hope and just might be what gets a widow through the day.
Did I mention that I have the best friends? Because I do, you know?