| Dating Idea | By Darleen Simpson | | When you are dating you should enjoy every date you have with your man. | | Valentine Love Story | By darleen simpson | | I love my man Chris. I make every day valentine's day . I LOVE Chris. | | My True Love | By Diane Kellogg | | It was 18 years ago last December, the week of Christmas. My husband’s father was in the hospital recovering from a heart attack. I was a cardiac rehab technician and his dad was my patient. I was sitting with his dad and mom going over all the risk factors of heart disease and answering questions that they may have about heart disease. I then looked up and seen this gorgeous guy walking up to us. His big brown eyes memorized me. I could hardly finish talking to his parents about the rest of the risk factors. My heart was racing. Rick smiled and introduced himself to me. He says he got this weird feeling also as he was walking toward me that day. Neither of us said anything really to his dad about each other but his dad must have picked up on it. The next day, I went into to see his dad, he asked me if I would like to have a coke date with his son. I was speechless; inside I was ready to explode with excitement. I stayed cool and asked him some questions about Rick and then said sure. After I left he then called Rick at home and said, “ You know that nurse who was talking to me yesterday, I just made a coke date for the two of you”. Rick was so embarrassed he did not want to come back to the hospital. When he did come in to see his dad he approached me and apologized for his dad setting this up asked me if I would like to go to dinner sometime. After the first of the year he called me, we went out and have been together ever since. We married one year later. And…of course his dad takes all the credit. | | Hope for the Morning | By Pearl Watley Mitchell | His name was Pete. When I walk by his picture and he smiles at me, I say to myself, "That was another life". I have to do this for my own self-survival, because if I associate the end of a beautiful thirty-year marriage with my present life, the loss I feel would be such a terrible burden that I could not manage it.
We were married for thirty years. We married very young. They weren't perfect years, but as life goes on this earth, they were satisfying and happy. He was always there for me. He was my best friend. He showed his love in such unusual ways that made such precious memories. We produced three beautiful offspring and now there are six loving grandchildren without a grandfather to pamper them.
Little children loved him. He loved them. It seems so ironic that he is not here now to bring that extra love and support that they need. He could help them through the hard times of this "feel-good" society.
I dreamed about him tonight. That's why I'm writing this early in the morning so that I can hold onto his memory as long as possible. When he first died, I worried that my memory would let him escape. I worried that I would forget his loving kindness, and his crankiness, and the valentine card and candy that I found in the closet shortly after his departure on February 11. I worried that I would go on with life and let the reality of us "raising each other" be unremembered. I worried that I would forget that tobacco killed him. I worried that my heart would not sufficiently honor his legacy. There was no need to worry. He is in my heart and mind every second of every day, and has been for the last thirteen years.
My grandson, eleven years old, had to write in school lately about "if he had two wishes, what would they be?" One of his wishes was to be able to read a person's mind to see what he himself had done wrong; the other was that his grandfather would be still here to love him and lead him. It broke my heart to know that neither of these could be real for him, especially the second one. He'll make it, he'll grow up in this drug-ridden, malicious society, and he will be part of the hope for tomorrow. But, wouldn't it have been great if he had that extra love and guidance from his grandfather - a good man, a loving person - one more source of support to help pull him through.
Being a Christian and having my children are the only things that have pulled me through this thirteen years of missing him. I know that I'll see him again, even though I won't be his wife the same as on earth. I know that he will know all his grandchildren, even though he didn't see them all here. How relationships will work in Heaven is beyond my knowledge, but I'm sure I will know him and he will know me. The Bible says so. It's bittersweet to know that things will be different, but precious to know that I will see him again.
There is hope, hope for the morning, an even better day. After all, as my daughter tells me, this life is only temporary and eternal life is a solemn promise. God's promises will not fail. I believe in that. I trust in that, and someday my Father will allow me to drop the burden of "death" in this life, and be reunited with my husband, my parents, my two brothers, my grandparents and all my loved ones who've gone on before.
The knowledge and hope for eternity makes the burden of outliving loved ones a tiny bit easier to bear.
| | My Most Romantic First Date | By Diane Greenhalgh-Vosding | | My most romantic first date was with my husband. It included a beautiful walk along one of the most famous gorgeous white powdery sand beaches in North America, a lovely romantic hand-holding sunset cruise in Sarasota Bay, followed by a perfect candle-lit dinner at a world-class restaurant as the full moon rose over the bay. The short story is that we had our first date and the next morning got engaged on that very same white sandy beach. But the longer version began 38 years before. My husband and I were high-school sweethearts who lost track of each other after we went off to different parts of the province for university. We separated and both married and never saw each other until one day in the summer of 2003. My husband, who was recovering from a surgery and treatments for prostate cancer, came back to my area from his home in Florida to visit his mother. Our mothers had stayed in touch over the years. His mother suggested he call my mum to say, “Hi.” She suggested he call me and low and behold we had dinner together to “catch up” after all these years. After that first get together, we began calling between Florida and, where I was living in Canada. Thank heavens for cheap phone plans! Quickly our calls became daily, lengthy conversations and we made plans for me to go for a visit at our Canadian Thanksgiving in October. On Thanksgiving Sunday, on Siesta Key Beach in beautiful Sarasota, Florida, we became engaged after only one official “date”. We were married the following May and have recently moved to live closer to our families: he from Florida, me from another part of my province, in the city where we met, 39 years ago. | | Special-Places Album | By Katherine Teixeira | My boyfriend and I share many special places throughout Atlanta, and he is wonderful at making me feel special.
On our last anniversary, he gave me a little photo album full of pictures of places I recognized, places we had visited throughout our city. Inside the album were instructions to go to each place and pick up a clue which would lead me to him at the end of the evening. He left a clue at two of our favorite restaurants, a wine bar we frequented, a park we enjoyed picnics in, a botanical garden we enjoyed strolls in, as well as other special places. I had to ask people for the clues, look under benches, look under ledges… I was all over the place. Each little clue had a sweet note inside it, and an alphabetical letter. The letters were meant to spell where I was going to meet him. After driving all over Atlanta and picking up all of the clues, I managed to spell out where to meet him. We met at a restaurant I had been dying to go to, which was downtown and considered one of the most romantic in Atlanta and had the most amazing view of the city skyline. He waited for me in one of the booths, with a rose and a smile, then he told me, “Let’s take another picture to add to our album”. It was all very special and romantic indeed.
| | I Moved In On Valentines Day! | By Lilly P. | | When I met my soon to be husband back in 1990 we had planned to marry the next summer. We decided to move me in on Valentines Day. We were doing all the moving ourselves so we couldn't go out to dinner or do anything special that year. Earlier that day, I went to the local bakery and bought two red velvet cupcakes nicely decorated with red hearts. We sat on the livingroom floor and lit a candle on each of the cupcakes and opened a small bottle of champagne! That's how we celebrated our first Valentines Day together! | | Fire & Ice | By Scott McGaghey | | I asked my wife to marry me in the funniest way i could. she has a craze for fire men. so 1 eve i hired my local fire dept.(thank god i went to school with the capt) I dressed up like a fire man & had them come flyin down the street with sirens blowin & we lift'd up the ladder to window where my girl was sleeping & bang'd on the window(nearly gave her a heart attack) she open'd the window & started screaming thinkin she was in a burning building. then she knew it was me & i simply said the only fire i see is in your eyes & in my heart. for i love you more than life . she start'd to cry & i gave her the ring ..well thats my story... thanks | | Valentine Angel | By Pearl Watley Mitchell | When I was 16, our family, parents and nine children, moved from Columbus, Georgia to Andalusia, Alabama. I was devastated to change schools and homes, but my dad kept telling me that God had a plan for my life. I doubted it, but I let him think that I believed it.
Despite my doubt, God did have a plan. One evening after school I was playing softball in a kid's yard down the block. This guy had a huge back yard. There I am standing at the plate with a bat in my hand, ready to knock the cover off the ball. Suddenly, a pulpwood truck drives up on the field, over the pitcher's mound and points the headlights toward home plate. It stops for a moment, the motor dies, and the guy whose yard it is, hustles from centerfield, over to the truck, yelling and shouting, fists pounding on the door, demanding that the driver move the truck. The door opens, and this tanned "hunk" steps from the truck, looking like Paul Bunyan, paying no attention to his brother. He struts into the house, shirt on his shoulder and that brown curly hair blowing in the wind. It was love at first sight!
I was taken aback, left, and walked silently home to Grandma's house, without saying goodbye. I walked into the house, where Granddaddy was cooking supper, and Grandma was still working. I never spoke, but went right to the shower. Granddaddy asked if I was sick. I don't know what I said, but I do know that I was in love with this pulpwood guy. He later became my husband of 30 years. I know now that Pete Mitchell was God's plan that my daddy talked about for my life.
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Life was pretty great after 30 years of marriage. We had married young and raised each other. Pete was 49 years old and I was 48. It had been a blessed, loving, happy marriage, raising three children and having two grandchildren already. It took work and compromise, and being in the company of each other came so naturally. There was no strain, no feeling the need to entertain, just living and loving, sometimes struggling with finances or problems, but always coming together with support for each other. The last two of our three children had gotten married that summer. They had their spouses and their lives now. Pete had said: "Well, we've gone full circle, baby. It's back to you and me, right where we started. We're not gonna' work so hard. We're gonna' travel. We'll ride Amtrak out to Los Angeles to the Gene Autry Museum and do a little sightseeing on the way. Yep, We've gone full circle, back to you and me."
That was the beginning of October. By February 13, we had gone full circle back to only me, myself. Pete was dead, gone, deceased from this earth. I had loved him as a part of my own soul. He was a loving, hard-working husband who treated me and the kids with love and respect. He was always doing "random acts of kindness". He was my friend, my love, my confidante, my spiritual bosom buddy.
How could I live without him? How could the sun even rise without him here? How could the world go on when the centre of the whole universe was gone? My heart was racing. It was hard to breathe. I just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. I sobbed until all the muscles in my body ached. I lay down across the bed and went to sleep.
The next morning I woke in a panic. I recalled the dream I had just awakened from. It seemed so real. I wondered where Pete was. He hardly ever got up before me. Maybe he was in the kitchen making coffee or outside piddling around. Then it hit me that he was gone. It wasn't a dream. He was dead, gone, his soul departed, passed on - all of the euphemistic ways there is to say it, but none hurt any less. I couldn't get air in my lungs. I gasped for oxygen.
I jumped up from the bed, threw back the covers and ran to Pete's closet. There were his clothes, hanging there neatly. Khaki pants, jeans, dress pants, plaid shirts, white shirts, his coveralls - after all plumbers need coveralls when they have to work outside and in unfinished houses and cold buildings. He had worked hard all his life. He had to drop out of school because of poverty, he had hauled pulpwood for a while, then luckily got a job as a helper with the only plumber in his little small hometown in South Alabama.
Then I remembered that he lay alone in a casket, buried under the cold dead ground at the cemetery. He didn't need coveralls there. I wanted to be with him. I wanted to die instead of him. I implored God how He could have taken Pete and left me to cope without him. It wasn't right. I screamed. I yelled. I beat the walls. I took a chair and threw it into his closet, knocking half his clothes off the racks. Ashamed of myself, I went over and moved the chair. I gently, tenderly picked up the fallen strewn clothes and hung them back up. As I placed the hangers on the rods, my eyes caught a glimmer of red cellophane paper. What was that, I wondered?
I reached up on the shelf above the hangers and pulled down a heart shaped box covered with red cellophane. I knew what it was and my heart burst with grief and sorrow. It was Pete's box of candy for me and I remembered that this was past Valentine's Day, February 17. He had bought this for me and was giving it to me from the grave. There was a card attached that said "To My Honey", with a pictures of some bees inside. In his crude handwriting, which was never beautiful to anyone except me, he had written, "To my dear wife, I love you Baby. Love, Pete".
It was at that moment that I went down on my knees with my face to the floor and sobbed until I was weak. But as I sobbed, it was like a fog in my mind had moved out and I could think clearly for the first time since I saw him take his last breath. I knew there was hope that I would see him again. I knew I had to live a life so that I would be with him where he was. The heart shaped box reminded me that there was someone else who loved me even more than Pete did and he had sacrificed Himself for me so that I could see Pete again. He had given me hope and victory over death.
It's been hard to live without Pete, because I had been married to him two-thirds of my life. I honestly believe that Pete is one of my angels who look over me. He left this earth 12 years ago on February 11, but he still lives in the face of our children. His generosity lives in the mission of my son who recently went into the ministry. He lives in the loving arms of my grandchildren who cling to me and make me feel so needed. He lives in the face of the students I teach, because children naturally bonded to him and he loved them dearly. He lives in every sun that rises and every moon that sets, and one day when God is ready for me, when my work on earth is done, I'll be with Pete again.
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