Valentine’s Day came and went, unremarkably.
It was the day of my night shift, I needed to rest; that night, he had a church meeting to attend. More significantly, still hurting from the raw emotions of being caught in the middle of my fraught parents and him, I needed some time alone.
No chocolates. No flowers. No candlelight dinner.
My first Valentine’s Day came and went, unremarkably.
Just as I was about to go to work in the night, after yet another earful of discouragement from my folks about the whole matter, I started to feel a little sorry for myself. I was surprised by my own disappointment about not celebrating a clichéd, commercialized day of the year.
No chocolates. No flowers. No special dinner. Just me, myself and a tiring overnight shift of seeing patient after patient. One had just separated from his wife and was suicidal; one nearly spat on my face; another tried to hit on me.
The next day, he asked if we could go for dessert.
I can’t say I wasn’t wishing for flowers. Because deep down inside, I think I really was. Fingers crossed, even. I wish I could tell you I was nonchalant about the whole thing, that I was totally above the overrated fanfare of the day before, but I wasn’t, and that surprised me.
Alas, there was no red rose. No daisy. No lilies. It was my first Valentine’s. I could not say I was not a little disappointed.
But there was him, and a very large and plain brown envelope. There was the glorious union of seeing each other again after a week of me needing time alone. There was our favorite black sesame paste dessert and us, hands held, knowing the magnitude of what lay before us.
And then I opened the envelope back at home (because he forbid me to open it any earlier), only to see a beautiful collage of the drawings I did of us, and his very earnest writing:
“You make me so happy because of all the conversations we have with one another. I wish we have more time to spend together. To talk. To pray. To laugh. To cry. I am always grateful that God has given me the time we have with one another…”
There was row after row of “You make me so happy because…”
And it brought tears to my eyes, knowing that our time together is short. Fought and bought over, fraught with danger , taut with emotion.
“Thank you for swimming, biking and running with me. Happy Valentine’s Day. I look forward to more Valentine’s Days and days we can spend and grow together in the future. PS: I love you.”
As tears ran down my face, I began to see how like God, we cannot put love in a box. We cannot put love in a rose, or a day, or a box of chocolates. Love is in the places we least expect, like in big plain brown envelope. Love doesn’t come in things, it comes in thought.
I am learning, that there is beauty in not having, for in not having, we appreciate, that we have so much more.
So thank you for being my training buddy and personal trainer. Thank you for being my spiritual mentor, and cheerleader. Thank you for warming my hands, for writing me random love notes, for making me laugh. Thank you for making me believe in love. Thank you for going the extra mile for me, for being there for me, for being my best friend. Thank you for swimming, biking, running and praying with me.
Thank you for all the things you have given me, through not giving me. Because through that, I continually learn the purer meaning of love.
Happy belated Valentine’s Day.
PS: I love you too.
Ciff and I