Be my valentine

There was only one Valentine's day I cared about. I was in love with my college sweetheart. We had been best friends for over a year and fell in love in one of those stupid, unyielding kind of ways. Never having been the type to mourn the holiday, I simply hadn't cared about it until that year. Well, not cared may be too strong a phrase. As far back as I can remember, my father has bought flowers and Godiva chocolates for my sister, mother, and myself. My mom's box was always bigger, but the joke was on him, as she only cared for the dark chocolate, and would dole out the remaining chocolates to Brie and me. (Sorry, dad).  My mother would send packages to college- gift cards, fabulous high heels, a special treat. You get the idea. I'll defend not being spoiled in a subsequent post...

On February 12th, 2010, in the thick of this relationship, in the thick of college, in the thick of self absorption- my mother's father died. That said, we would all be flying to Texas to be with our family, to honor my grandfather, and to attend the funeral. Of course. Of course, I was heart broken for the loss of my Pepi. I was sad for my mother. Sad for our family. But I was also sad for myself. Sad to miss the opportunity to love this man that I loved so dearly. A day to show him how much I loved him. To celebrate our love. 

Whisked away to Texas, unable to celebrate Valentine's day, I am ashamed to think about how disappointed I was. Not because I regret the love we had shared, and not because I missed the events that valentine's day can bring. 

I'm ashamed that I reserved my profession of love for a single day. Ashamed that I didn't tell him how much I loved him, every single day. Ashamed that I missed the bigger picture. 

The bigger picture?

The loss of our Ewing patriarch. A grandmother left alone for the first time in over 60 years. A mourning mother and dear aunts and uncles. 

The bigger picture?

My first love. 

The bigger picture?

If we could make every day Valentine's day, if we were able to celebrate our love for somebody else, every single day. 

What would it look like? 

Today, I ran around the kids' house, handing out fun size packets of M&Ms. Some kids screamed and dramatically tore open the bag, ripping it in half, sending a rainbow of candy scattering accross the floor. Some kids looked bewildered at the packets and handed them back to me. Carefully opening the packets, I would slip a single candy between their lips and onto their tongues. It would take a moment, and then, all of a sudden, in a burst of bemusement, they would lock eyes with me and grin, wild eyed, expectant, joyful, their tongues a rainbow of chocolate and candy shells. 

It took me two hours to make sure that every child had approximately a mini-bag's worth of candy. Walking down the stairs, I realized I had forgotten Junior. 

Junior is probably autistic, and was abandoned at a very young age. Years ago, he was found living feral in the woods. He doesn't like human contact, doesn't participate in the programs at Wings, and seldom can be found. The staff keep him clean, clothed, and fed, but for the most part, that's as far as it goes. 

With sticky rainbow hands, I went in search of this little nymph. He tends to be found sitting on the balcony of the dormitory, enjoying the sunlight. Today, I found him in his bed, both hands inside his shirt, fully covered by a blanket. 

Trying not to startle him, I gently spoke his name. no reaction. I waited and approached him slowly as human contact provokes panic. Edging towards him, my m&ms a beacon, I finally sat down on the rim of the bunk beside him, and tapped his shoulder. He barely raised his head. crouched in a position incomprehensible to me, he was a jumble of limbs wrapped up in a minuscule ball. When he raised his face, I was able to put an M&M to his lips. Acknowledging that he enjoyed it, he began a somewhat guttural purr, and looked at me. I put several more in his mouth, by this time he had taken an upright position and gestured to me with one hand in a come hither-esque motion. in simple creole I asked him to take them from my hand. 

First, he bent his head over my hand and took a mouthful from my palm. Humbled, and afraid, I felt ashamed that it called to mind the feeling of feeding a wild animal. 

Coaxing him upright, and further away from my hand, I asked him again, 

Junior, it's okay, take one from my hand. 

He looked at me and let out a strangled laugh. with two fingers he successfully managed to get a solitary yellow M&M from my palm to his mouth. He smiled. 

It was the first time we had ever touched. 

The bigger picture?

There's no excuse not to love. 

There's too much of it. to take. to give. to experience. 

And Valentine's day, well, it simply isn't enough.