This has always been one of my favorite days. My father used to make a special effort to bring flowers and a gift to my mother and me, every year. I can remember that he always gave me something he’d picked out especially for me. But, for the life of me, I can only recall a single gift. When I was about five, I think, he gave me a little gold ring with a red heart-shaped stone. I loved it. I think I had it for all of three days before I lost it somewhere outside (either in the sand box, or along the sidewalk, or in the clover in the lot across the street). We never found it, but I remember that ring to this day. Isn’t it ironic that we remember things we’ve lost more than those we kept? Still, whenever this day comes each year, it’s that little ring and how special my dad always made me feel, that I remember and hold in my heart.
Happy Hearts’ Day!