I’ll never forget the day: I awoke to much anticipation in what I’d find waiting for me. But as far as my eyes could see, there was nothing; not a card, flower, or even a chocolate so delicately wrapped left behind.
I’m referencing the day so many of us, ladies predominately, wait all year long for. The day where our loved ones (spouses or significant others) lavish us with not only love and affection, but also flowers, chocolates, and the greeting card adorned with words meant to make us weep and fall to our knees with such gratitude for their love. But that moment never came for me.
I must be looking in the wrong spot; the kitchen counter is much too obvious, I thought to myself that dreary, cold February morning. I then began to search the bedrooms throughout our house. The closets, cabinets, and drawers, I even checked the trunk of my car; my husband’s been known to make surprises a little tricky sometimes…my display of love has got to be somewhere! Nope. Nowhere would I find my love shrine I just knew would be awaiting me.
As I uncovered all of the hiding places and was left with nothing, I started to cry. Well, let’s be honest, because we’re such good friends here: I bawled. The ugly cry too. The cry-so-hard you pass by a mirror and get a glimpse of your face and cry even harder because it’s just that horrid…yeah, that cry.
I eventually collected myself and soon my anguish turned into anger. That jerk! After all I do for him. After all of the love I mercifully give him daily that he actually doesn’t deserve! All of the dirty pairs of underwear I wash, the socks I’m constantly picking up because he’s too lazy to do it himself. Yeah, let me tell you I was on a roll.
After I collected myself, I walked past his socks on the floor; I kicked them. And I kicked them real hard. My phone rang. I went to retrieve my phone and who would it be? Mr. Anti-Romantic himself. Pfffttt! Oh heck no! Water will turn into wine before I speak to that guy! But Mr. Anti was relentless. He called back. Maybe a few times, or 30, but I eventually answered the phone.
Honey? Everything okay? He questioned. There was silence. A long pause of silence before I uttered…Yeah, I’m good, how are you? Mr. Anti began the conversation by uttering the words, Happy Valentine’s Day Honey! Ugh, how dare he, I screamed to myself! After his words of affection continued, he thanked me for the amazing lunch I had packed him that morning. He carried on by telling me that the gas bill had been paid, so not to worry about holding onto the statement that was left in the mail stack. He ended our conversation by stating how much he loved me and what a lucky man he was to be married to such a hottie (yeah, he really said that!).
Since still being upset by his lack of goods for me, I muttered I loved him and quickly hung up the phone.
As I placed my phone down onto the counter, I received a spiritual nudge, a push rather. I glanced around at the beautiful home I live in. I gazed down at my feet; they were warm despite the frigid temps outside. And I noticed the statement from Intermountain Gas Co. sitting on top of the mail stack.
You see, it was then and there that this lady realized something deep.
My husband may not have left me the array of goodies I was expecting, but he did leave me with a roof over my head that had heat, a car that always seemed to be filled with gas, the ability to stay home and raise our five children, never having to worry where and how our bills will be paid, and the every day presence of love. He leaves me with his “love” everyday, not just on February 14th.
My husband may not be the best at what we ladies find “standard” on Valentine’s Day, but he is much more superb than standard. He is far beyond standard in how he shows me he loves me everyday in his own way.
His own way may not look like your significant other’s way, and that’s okay. What matters to me is that Mr. Hayes loves me. He does…he does very much. So much in fact, he allows room in the budget for me to buy him flowers and chocolate.
*Article first appeared in Idaho Family Magazine