It has taken me years and years to come to some sort of wary agreement with Valentines Day. I’ve agreed not to think about it, and it has agreed not to sleep with my friends.
Yeah, the former love of my life, slept with my best friend. On Valentines Day. Cue Jerry Springer theme music here.
I suppose it was my fault and all, I mean, I wasn’t giving him what he needed, having just, you know, given birth to and spent almost the first year raising our first child. (Oh god, that makes this story nearly ten years old, which in turn makes me old. Crap.)
The anniversary of this all comes around every year. And every year I try really hard not to think about it. Not only did I go almost completely insane for awhile with the betrayal of it all, (cue angst-ridden music here I suppose.) But this to me, was the catalyst that kicked off what I remember as the worst time of my life.
I kicked him out. Right before his brother came to visit. I will always feel weird about that, because his brother ended up having to stay with their Dad instead of with us. And a week after he went home, he died. And I got to tell my then-husband, and his father. That their brother and son was dead. Talk about intense. And hard. And awful.
And this is what I can’t help but think about every year when this holiday comes around.
So, while I totally agree that it’s a silly commercial holiday with no real meaning, I do want good things on this day. I guess I’m waiting for a memory incredible enough to overshadow the first thing that comes to my mind when I think of Valentines Day.
I want to somehow erase the grief and betrayal from my mind. Or at least move it further to the back, behind other, prettier memories. I know thats not realistic, but hey, a girl can dream, right?