Valentine’s Day has never been a big deal for me. I didn’t mourn as Valentine’s Day came around each year and I still didn’t have a special someone; in fact, I scarcely noticed it–perhaps because my parents never really celebrated it.
But this Valentine’s Day is oh-so-sweet, because two years ago I spent it walking around a south Houston park with my handsome guy who had forgotten to ever ask me to be his girlfriend but who had a diamond ring burning a hole in his pocket. He didn’t pull that ring out until two weekends later because he thought it was “cheesy” to propose on Valentine’s Day. But all day long he referred to marriage. And I wondered if he ever was going to ask me to be his girlfriend. We wandered around in the dappled sunlight-through-shade holding hands–we’d started holding hands just a few weeks earlier, and it still felt heart-stoppingly special.
A year later, we’d been married for 7 months and I was incredibly sick because Little Bean was forming inside me. And my David still made the day as sweet as he could with a wife who only got out of bed to spend time with the porcelain throne. And now this year…last night he surprised me by coming home from a long trip a day earlier than expected so he could be with me today. He’ll walk in the door from work soon, and we won’t need chocolate or flowers or overpriced ginormous teddy bears to know that we love each other. Because every day he shows me love, and every day–even the days when we disagree or everything seems to go wrong–is like Valentine’s Day in my heart.
(And, yes, I know that’s sappy. I’m okay with that!)