Saturday, February 14, 2009
Brian and I had a quiet Valentine's Day at home. We grilled scallops, tuna steaks crusted in black pepper, sirloin steak in a soy-ginger marinade, and skewers of vegetables. I made a pecan pie for dessert, because Brian is a pie guy. I prepped, he cooked, and we ate together in front of the fire place. Kathleen cooperated by eating and falling asleep. It is one of the first meals I haven't had to wolf down in two months—and it was good!
The room was dim, lit only by the fire in front of us and Henry's memory lamp behind us, and I found myself crying, thinking of Henry.
In many ways, Valentine's Day is Henry's holiday, although we never celebrated one with him. Red hearts are every where. Red is his color; a heart, his symbol. And of course, there is the love. I don't need a special day to miss Henry, any more than I need a special day to say I love. Still this Valentine's Day I did both.