A Valentine’s Day postscript

0026_A Valentine's Day postscript

I could feel the years melt away as my car climbed the winding, wooded hill that leads to her home – a place I frequented as a child, a happy household where I was welcomed and loved. Although the snow had stopped falling, my tires spun and slipped as I neared the summit. I didn’t care about driving in the snow. It was Valentine’s Day, and I was on a mission.

As I pulled close to her house and turned off the motor, I saw her, and my heart froze. She was shoveling her driveway. She’s in her late eighties now, and she’s had recent health issues. She shouldn’t have been out there – but there she was.

I selected a petal-perfect, pale pink rose, and, holding it in front of me, I walked toward her through the snow. As I made my approach, she straightened up and peered in my direction, not recognizing me at first. Then, her eyes flew open, and she said, “Amy Neighbour! Oh, my . . .” as I handed her the long-stemmed rose and wished her a happy Valentine’s Day. She looked so petite as I beamed down at her, this sweet woman who used to tower over me. I’ve loved her for as long as I can remember. Her kind, brown eyes shimmered through tears. She hugged me, looked up, and softly said, “Oh, Amy – you didn’t have to do this.”

Gently taking the shovel from her mittened grasp, I said, “I have an idea. You can take this rose in out of the cold and find a bud vase for it, and I’ll do some of this shoveling while you’re inside.” She agreed, and took slow, careful steps back to her house. Knowing it would be a while before she returned, I kicked into high gear, shoveling as fast as I could to prevent her from needing to come back outdoors.

As I finished the last few passes, she opened her front door and called out, “Amy Neighbour, you stop that! Right now!” Chuckling to myself, I waved a gloved hand and grinned. Merrily ignoring her protests, I completed the driveway. As I returned the shovel to her front door, she said, “Amy! You did not have to do that!”

I smiled at her and answered, “I know I didn’t have to, I wanted to. Plus,” I teased, “it was fun to hear you scold me. I haven’t been scolded like that since I was ten years old! You made forty-five years disappear, just like that! I’m young again! Whee!!” I threw my arms out to emphasize my point, and we both laughed. She invited me to come in.

I felt the deep silence of her well-kept home as she closed the front door. She took me to a small side table where she had placed her rose. She’d trimmed the stem and set it in a bud vase beside two small Valentines she’d received in the mail from some of her far-flung family. She picked up one of the cards and handed it to me so that I could absorb the sentiment and read the loved signature. Then she offered me the other card. Afterwards, she positioned both cards upright on the table – just so – next to the bud vase with its pink rose. Here it was – her simple shrine to love. We stood there together and looked at it.

Although she didn’t mention how much she misses her husband, who died over a year ago, we both felt his absence. He was such a good man; he was her everything.

I had more roses to deliver, but I stayed with her as long as I could. She wanted to hear the latest news of our busy three, so I gave an update. We reminisced about my mother, who was one of her dear friends, and we agreed that it seems impossible she’s been gone for ten years.

Time ran out, and I needed to leave. I put my arms around her and said goodbye, wishing I could protect her from loss and heartache, from sorrow, from silence. Hugging her, I knew that all the love in the world could never accomplish it. Still, I had done what I could to bring joy to her day. I smiled and waved as I walked back to my car. She smiled as she stood in her doorway and watched me go.

Later that day, I went to the computer to check my inbox and saw that my friend, Katrina Kenison, had posted a lovely Valentine’s Day message on her blog. A beautiful question she posed popped out at me. “Tell me,” she wrote, “how are you making love visible today?” I debated as to whether to write about how I’d spent a portion of my Valentine’s Day, being one who likes the idea of not letting my right hand know what my left is doing. But after a small thank you note arrived in my mailbox yesterday, penned in a slightly wobbly script, thanking me for the Valentine’s Day rose and our pleasant visit, I decided that I would write about it. On behalf of needy souls everywhere, I’m willing to speak up.

Within the framework of our own busy lives, there is much we cannot do to lift another heart or alleviate a set of circumstances. Still, there is much we can do. It doesn’t have to be a holiday or a special occasion to open our eyes, and our hearts, to the needs of others. We don’t have to look too far to find opportunities to share love. Opportunities are right here, right now. The only prerequisite is a pair of eyes to see and a heart willing to give.

I’ve decided to post Katrina’s pertinent question on my inspiration board as a reminder that while I can’t do everything, there is something concrete I can do each day to answer this all-important question: Tell me, how are you making love visible today?

In her recent memoir, Magical Journey, Katrina Kenison offers these words:

“Meaning and purpose come not from accomplishing great things in the world, but simply from loving those who are right in front of you, doing all you can with what you have, in the time you have, in the place where you are.”

Well said, Katrina. I couldn’t agree more.

14 thoughts on “A Valentine’s Day postscript

  1. And once again, my friend, you have inspired me. I love the way we can continue to remind one another, with our words and deeds, that compassion is our purpose here, and love, our daily work. A beautiful essay in every way.

    • It is a profound joy, Katrina, to share a similar viewpoint and to agree with you that “compassion is our purpose here, and love, our daily work.” Oh, yes. Everything inside my heart dances to this truth. xoxo

    • Thank you for your kind words here, Betsy. It can be so hard to know what to do when, as you so beautifully put it, “all we want to do in the name of love will not work.” Walt Whitman offers a simple message that has always resonated with me: “We convince by our presence.” Even when we don’t know what to do or say, our presence speaks volumes. xox

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