A belated happy Valentine’s Day and a sweet memory from Janet.
After four days of being on the road in northern Thailand, hiking through mountain villages and taking mini bus rides with 800 sickening, gorgeous hairpin curves, we arrived back in Chiang Mai, exhausted but happy. I fell into bed and sank into a deep sleep. Unfortunately, I awoke around 3 am queasy and nauseous. I tossed and turned 
the rest of the night. By morning, my head was throbbing, I was too exhausted to sit up, every inch of my body hurt, my skin was dry and on fire and my stomach was a hot mess. I spent the day sleeping fitfully. Michael tried to ply me with water, watermelon juice and fresh coconut water from the market to allay what we both knew to be increasing dehydration. I could barely drink.
Around 4 pm as the day was starting to wane, I opened my eyes and saw Michael next to me on the bed doing 
work. “Happy Valentine’s Day”, he smiled. “Really”?, I asked. Who knew? Having been far afield for a few days and away from Facebook, Valentine’s Day hadn’t been on my radar. Not that it has ever really been a big thing for us. I’m generally too frugal and practical for special dinners out and I will always value a surprise bouquet or love note over an expected one, any day.
But as I lay there, restless and feverish, I remembered a Valentine’s Day from 35 years ago. I was a sophomore in college. My boyfriend and I of over 3 years had recently broken up. It was a mutual break up. We were kind and loving to each other. But, it was over and I was feeling untethered and vulnerable and shaky about love.
That Valentine’s Day I received a card in the mail, a pink envelope, post marked from my hometown, with no return address. It was a sweet and funny card, singing my praises, signed, “an admirer”. Laughing, I went to the 
hall pay phone and called my dad. “Did you send me that sweet card, Dad?” I laughed. “Card?” he queried, “I don’t think so”. I pushed and prodded a bit, but all I got were denials. Yet, over the next 3 years, the Valentine’s Day cards continued to arrive. I knew it was my dad, but he never admitted it and maybe in part that allowed my imagination and hopefulness about love to blossom.
After college, I was abroad for a time and constantly on the move. The cards stopped and then I was married, then a mom, and then divorced and shaky about love once more. It took me a long while to find love again.
Laying there that day, sick and feverish, on a hard bed in a far away country, I so desperately longed to see my dad one more time. If for nothing else then to thank him for loving me. For reminding me how lovable I was when I felt anything but, and for showing me the mystery and magic of love in all of its many forms.
Isn’t that what Valentine’s Day is for. A pause, an opening, a reminder to the people in our daily life, the ones who annoy and irritate and delight us, that their love, their little words and actions can hold us up through a lifetime of God knows what.
I took a sip from the glass next to my bed and turned to Michael.
I had never tasted coconut water as sweet.
To Appreciating All the Sweetness in Your Life,
Janet
