The Heart Remembers

 

  In memory of my dear husband, I am republishing a blog I posted two years before we moved to Texas to retire. In the preface note I address him as Hank, a nickname earned when—ever the gentleman—he offered me his handkerchief after I spilled my sparkling water at our 20-year high school reunion. And it’s signed Hanes, his pet name for me—earned or not—because he rather liked the look of my gams. (For all of you post-baby-boomers, those would be legs.)

 

            I offer today’s post to you and yours with the sincere wish that, on this day dedicated to romance, you hold your beloved close to your heart, if not in your arms. The flame of true love is eternal, after all, even though providence may separate us for the time being.

 

February 14, 2013

 

Dearest Hank, 

 

I entered us in the local paper’s “Greatest Love Story” contest, but alas, the biggest vote-getter in that competition was a young whipper-snapper of a couple who I seriously suspect stuffed the ballot box with multiple votes from multiple computers. (But maybe that’s just me choking on sour grapes.)

 

Anyway, this is what I said about us. It is my Valentine to you this year.

 

Love,

 

            Hanes

 

            My husband Jack and I live in Fridley, which is where we first met in high school. We came close to dating back then, but ended up going separate ways, with separate spouses, until—both single again—we re-met at a reunion years later.

 

            Even after 25 years of marriage, it seems a bit presumptuous to claim to be the world’s greatest romance. We didn’t exchange love letters across a war-torn continent or have the honor of donating a major organ, one to the other. But we did give each other that cherished second chance to discover true devotion—the kind that survives rebellious stepchildren, career disappointments, the loss of loved ones, and personal health crises; the kind that hangs in there for the ebb and flow between passion and friendship.

 

            And that particular blessing may just translate to the best gift this earthly life has to offer: someone who will always, bottom line, invest the time and effort to figure you out, to help you over the rough spots, and to guide you toward your better self.