Love is in the Air

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. It can be a hard time for any single person. It is especially hard for retired widows. It’s really hard for me because my husband died a few days before Valentine’s Day.

I don’t remember much about the days between his death and the funeral six days later. Somewhere in that blur was Valentine’s Day. Apparently, I gave cards to my kids. I don’t know when I bought them or mailed them. I must have been on auto-pilot.

During the worst time of my life, I was still trying to make my kids feel safe and loved. I was falling apart, but mothers don’t get to fall apart out loud.

It’s been six years now. Valentine’s Day is still hard. I miss the cards he gave me. I miss the chocolates we shared. I miss his smile when he handed me flowers or a ridiculous stuffed animal.

The first two years, I ignored the day completely. I wouldn’t open cards from family. My kids brought flowers and I told them to take them home so they could enjoy them. I hid grief behind politeness. Receiving anything felt… undeserved.

Eventually I tried something small. I bought myself a 4-count Whitman’s Valentine chocolate. Any more would have been dangerous for my blood sugar — and honestly, my heart.

I’ve done it every year since.

It lets me sit with the memory instead of running from it. Sad and healing can exist at the same time.

Now I cook a special meal. Steak. Something indulgent. Cheesecake. I set the dining room table with china, stemware, and candles — a luxurious meal for one.

The first year, I set a place for him because I still believed he might walk in.

I don’t do that anymore.

Not because he’s forgotten, but because he’s no longer missing.

Love didn’t leave. It changed addresses.

So now Valentine’s Day looks different. I share meals with others, serve when I can, and remind the people in my life that they matter. But it always starts the same way — with a small act of kindness toward myself.

Because after loss, learning to receive love again begins there.

Blessings,

Bethanne