For Valentine's Day

My soulmate and I usually didn't do anything lavish or opulent for Valentine's Day, and that was just fine with us.

I created a card for him with one of my photos or graphic designs, and as awful as some of my efforts were, he cherished them—after he passed away, I discovered he had saved them all, every single one. I saved the valentines he gave me too, and the last one is still on my dresser. A special pot of tea was brewed, tiny cookies were made in heart shapes, and a token was carved into a piece of fruit: a smile, a kiss, a heart, a dove, a lover's knot. We shared a single piece of scrumptious dark chocolate (usually Läderach or Godiva) and went for a long walk in the woods with our canine companions, first Cassie, then Spencer, then (and now) Beau.

There were no special declarations of devotion on February 14th, and there was no need for them.  We told each other how we felt every day, and we were content with the way this day unfolded, no frilly gestures and lovey-dovey professions. We knew how much we loved each other, how good we were together, how amazingly blessed we were to have found each other so many years ago. 

This year, there is a handmade card on my soulmate's bureau as usual. I carved a heart on a McIntosh apple and am putting it in his place at the old oak table along with a pot of Darjeeling and his favorite cookies. Beau and I will take a walk in the woods, and my beloved will be with us in spirit, tucked safe and warm in the pocket of my parka. We will tell him we love him as we did every day when he was here on earth, and as we still do, every single day. Wishing you deep and abiding love too.