Valentine's Day Essay

So HM writes about one subject, and I, on the other hand, write about the opposite. I'd post the link to this essay that was published in the Buffalo News, but it would be dead at this late date (though I wish I could link to the PDF of it). It was back in 2002. On Valentine's Day. It made my grandmother happy, and I actually had a nice day because of it. Here's the essay:

Valentine’s Day Dance

Valentine’s Day is almost here, the day lovers anticipate, card manufacturers’ bank on, and florists welcome. Despite that my grandparents met at a St. Valentine’s Day dance in 1928, it hasn’t been my favorite holiday. While marriage is proposed and lovers reunite, nothing memorable happens to me on Valentine’s Day.

Last year for instance, my boyfriend announced days prior to Valentine’s Day, that he wanted to date someone else. I cried, nursed myself with chocolate, and survived. Shortly after, I fell in love with a dear friend. We shared music, books, writing, advice, gifts, debate, and even a sweet kiss. My love came unbidden and I ultimately confessed. He’s now decided we cannot be friends.
For the unrequited woman, coping with Valentine’s Day demands creativity. In past years, I’ve bought myself flowers, exchanged roses with friends, handed out conversation hearts, and generally moped around. I realize this year has to be different and start thinking of how to make the leap from Dateless Downer to Vivacious Valentine.

Should I visit a foreign country that neglects to celebrate Valentine’s Day? That seems extreme. Maybe a blind date or perhaps hibernation under the safety of my down comforter will suffice. There will definitely be no candlelit dinners, tearjerker movies, or spicy romance novels.

Then I remember my grandma Netta’s story about meeting my grandfather Bill. At the Valentine’s Day Dance, they announced a Sadie Hawkins turn, which meant a woman could initiate a dance. Netta asked Bill to dance, not realizing another girl had already asked him.

Days later Bill saw Netta walking in their village in Scotland and he asked to accompany her. Thus began their romance, from a simple risk taken and a casual walk. Although my grandparents met on Valentine’s Day, they didn’t dance until later.

My grandmother’s courage to extend herself and ask for a dance uplifts me. She was the girl in gym class that could climb the rope faster than the boys, the teenager who bobbed her hair without permission, and the young woman who asked her future husband to dance first.

Grandma and I share poetry, tea, and, I think, her spirit of fearlessness. The risks my grandmother took soothe my broken heart as I contemplate what it means to love a friend and then lose him. I confessed because I wanted to be true and I wanted to give him the valentine of my love. His response was complete silence. I took a risk too and now we’re estranged. I’m still mourning the loss of him in my life, an event I cannot fully understand yet.

My grandparents’ true Valentine’s Day was not one day, but the whole of their lives together. Perhaps Netta was disappointed that she couldn’t dance with Bill that day. She didn’t know that only a few days later they would meet again and that they would eventually marry.

Despite I have spent many Valentine days alone, I remind myself of the blessings of love given and received. A boyfriend’s unexpected kiss along the Seine as boating tourists cheered us, the tattered love letter from my first love, a tiny garnet pendant from a man who proposed beside the Horseshoe Falls, and the never-ending embrace of a boyfriend as I sobbed over the death of a beloved pet. These moments and tokens are my valentines.

As our days link together, our lives form an intricate whole, providing us with a perspective that focusing on only one day never could. This Valentine’s Day, instead of reflecting on my perceived failures, I’ll envision the walk upon which I’ll meet the man who will become my partner and love, for life. And I’ll thank Netta for asking Bill to dance that Valentine’s Day so many years ago.