A Valentine’s Day Requiem

All the Spaces Where You Are Not

I thought I could delete Valentine’s Day from my calendar this year. My sweetheart has passed on, and Valentine’s is not a family event since we celebrate six birthdays from December through March, not to mention Christmas. But then my writing muse Maureen Ryan Griffin (wordplaynow.com) presented a prompt for her Under Construction writing class that included the phrase “the space where you are not.”¹ And I couldn’t help thinking of all the empty spaces in my day-to-day life once filled by my late husband, Michael.

At this moment I am in my Tuesday morning Zoom writers’ group, but you are not in the living room with one ear cocked for the sound of laughter that is so often a part of this gathering. When it is over you will not be asking what was so funny, and I won’t be attempting to repeat one of Kathy G’s hilarious always-true stories.

You won’t be telling me not to worry about lunch because you aren’t hungry. I won’t be reminding you that you must eat to live and convincing you to split an apple and a peanut butter sandwich with me. You won’t be pondering the wisdom of venturing out for a walk on a sunny but frigid winter day and opting for a nap instead.

You won’t be there at dinner tonight relishing the roast beef with rice and gravy, or pushing the Brussels sprouts to the side, saying it’s not that you don’t like them, it’s just that you’re full. Even though we both know that’s not true.

This evening you won’t be in your lounge chair watching the national news, commiserating with me about all the mayhem going on in the world. We won’t be searching for a Netflix show we both like, and in an attempt to compromise, choosing one neither of us like very much.

Tonight, you will not be in the king size bed that still holds pride of place in the bedroom, where I sleep in one corner surrounded by pillows instead of your arms.

In the morning you won’t be asking how I slept, or what my plans are for the day. We won’t be sharing our ritual morning hug and kiss.

Later you won’t be suggesting we go to Dawn’s Dollar Deals, your favorite thrift shop, or to Menards, the store that carries everything a man could want from tools to building materials to malted milk balls. You won’t be proposing going to Culver’s for lunch.

So many spaces where you are not. And yet there is one space where you are and always will be—the space in my heart for the love of my life, my husband, my lover, my friend. My heart, your space—forever.

1. “Yellow Ball Python” by Marguerite Sheffer is a short story using a search for a lost snake as an arc for romance.