My mother gave me a Valentine every year, always.
She never forgot.
Even when she was very old, and thought that the cards were too expensive (“Four dollars and ninety-five cents? For a card? That’s nuts. That’s highway robbery.”), she still gave me a Valentine.
These Valentine Days without her have a particular poignancy, a sharp, sweet edge to them.
I keep thinking of all the cards she gave me.
I don’t have any of them.
But I do have the books (Ribsy, The Cricket in Times Square, Lincoln, The Borrowers, All of a Kind Family, Paddington, The Twenty-One Balloons) she gave to me.
Those books were valentines, too, I suppose.
They are still valentines.
I will never let them go.
Happy Valentines Day.

Reactions: 574
Comments: 30

Original Post