L.A. Affairs: I hated Feb. 14 — until I received a valentine from my dead husband

Valentine’s Day. Ugh. Not a very good day for a widow. All over the place you flip, you’re reminded that you’re now not somebody’s valentine. And you’ll’t escape from it. There are the oldsters hawking bouquets by the facet of the highway, the sappy tunes on the radio. Then there are all of the locations you used to go together with your companion, reminding you that you’re now alone.

Valentine’s Day is a day I hold reminding myself I ought to simply spend some place else. Like one other planet.

My late husband, Michael, was great about Valentine’s Day — by no means excessive; he simply all the time did one thing particular. And totally different.

One yr, I used to be working at a TV manufacturing job in a dingy workplace situated over a tattoo parlor in Silver Lake: Michael confirmed up with a single-stem pink dinnerplate dahlia in a small silver vase. Because the identify suggests, it was huge and exquisite — a single flower, 10 inches throughout. Everybody within the workplace smiled. One other yr it was pink tulips. Some years we simply stayed residence and cooked one thing particular. Or we took our two children out for ice cream. Through the years, I purchased him books — or goofy socks.

The reward itself didn’t matter. It was what the reward symbolized. There was nice consolation in all the time having a valentine — somebody you’ll select as your valentine yr after yr. Michael was good-looking and charming and extremely sort. We had been collectively for 21 years, married for 18, when he dropped useless of a mind aneurysm in 2012.

Final February, I made a decision to regulate the Valentine’s Day narrative. I opted for some self-pampering and determined to money in a present certificates I needed to a spa in Okay-town. I had been saving it for an important day. I write and produce movies and TV, and work gig to gig. Meaning I’m all the time shaking the bushes for what’s subsequent and counting my pennies. I don’t typically purchase espresso out until I’m assembly somebody about potential work. Plus, there are these two children I discussed — my daughter was about to graduate faculty, and my son was headed for his freshman yr. So I didn’t schedule a scrub or a therapeutic massage on the spa. The reward certificates would get me within the door for a soak and a sauna, and that must do.

Simply as I used to be on the point of go away for a day of leisure, I obtained a name from a man I’d met on a relationship app. We’d gone out a couple of occasions, and I already knew he’d by no means be my future husband. He talked principally about himself. He was in his 50s however nonetheless dressed like a 25-year-old rocker dude. He claimed to have a doctorate diploma in physics, though I couldn’t discover something he’d ever printed. He additionally owned a tech firm. (As soon as, once I requested him why he didn’t embrace “Dr.” or “PhD” on his enterprise card or his firm web site, he mentioned it was as a result of it will make folks suppose he’d be too costly …)

We’d get collectively infrequently for sushi or a film however I’d go residence alone.

I advised him about my spa plans, and the way Valentine’s Day was typically arduous for me. He mentioned he wished to hitch. I considered it. OK. It will be good to have some firm. He arrived late and met me on the spa restaurant.

We shared some laughs, a straightforward dialog and a pleasant meal of bulgogi and a way-too-spicy-for-me fried squid. He’d ordered a number of objects — he even had a dessert despatched to the desk subsequent to us. He bragged that he’d simply signed a $64,000 contract that day. After our meal, I believed he would be part of me within the coed sauna, however he mentioned he wanted to go. That’s once I realized I’d been stiffed with the invoice. About $85. I’d by no means be going out with him once more.

Even the aaaaah of the spa was short-lived.

I returned residence that evening feeling offended and lonelier than ever.

I fell asleep fascinated with Michael. I by no means anticipated him to be such a tricky act to comply with. I simply all the time anticipated him to be there, with me.

And, in a means, maybe he has been. Many individuals who’ve misplaced a cherished one have tales about little moments the place it looks like they’ve acquired a nod, a message, an indication from the past.

Essentially the most beautiful instance of all occurred to me final summer time as I used to be making ready to fly again to L.A. after getting our son settled in for his first yr in school. As I stood within the airport, ready to board my flight, I reached for my marriage ceremony rings. I’d worn them on a series round my neck for the journey, and I whispered, “Babe, we did it. Two children off to school.”

And as I introduced the rings to my lips to kiss them, I used to be startled by a blaring airport announcement: “Paging Michael Newman, paging Michael Newman.”

Michael Newman. That was my late husband’s identify.

The morning after my spa debacle, I lay in mattress charting my day of strolling the canines, calling my children and different chores, once I noticed one thing throughout the bed room.

A few years earlier, Michael and I had taken some goofy footage collectively in a photograph sales space, the sort you see at an amusement park or on the Santa Monica Pier. The strip of photos had been a few of my favourite footage of us collectively, and taking a look at it all the time made me smile. However by some means, it had gone MIA. I had seemed all over the place for it. I feared it had unintentionally fallen into the trash or gotten swept up with a newspaper and tossed by some means.

I had cried. One other piece of us gone.

As I walked throughout the room that morning, there, resting atop a pair of my footwear, was the image strip. Seemingly fastidiously positioned.

However how? Not counting my two rescue canines, I stay alone.

Even from one other dimension, Michael was nonetheless being a very good valentine.

This yr? I’m trusting my intestine.

I’d moderately spend Valentine’s Day alone than with any questionable valentines.

Maybe I’ll even take a last-minute journey out of city.

I can all the time take the canines, and the images, with me.

The creator lives in South Pasadena and writes and produces for TV and movie. She is presently in growth on a historic fiction venture for TV. She is on Instagram @margo.newman.75

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