Devoutly to be Ignored

Dearest Rachel –

This should hardly come as any great surprise to you, but I really don’t like the holiday that today happens to bear within it. I’ve come to regard it much like the reformed Ebeneezer Scrooge described his former opinion toward Christmas, as “a false and commercial festival, devoutly to be ignored.” Which makes it sound I’m old Scrooge’s evil counterpart or some such, with a heart that has shrunk three sizes (to borrow from a completely different – and yet much the same – Christmas antagonist) instead of growing like it’s supposed to.

The thing is, this probably overstates my position towards Valentine’s Day. Oh, there’s no question that it’s absurdly commercialized – just try getting a restaurant table for this evening, never mind comparison shopping things like flowers, jewelry and chocolates on either side of the day to prove the point. Then again, it can be argued that this has been the case since long before either of us were walking this earth. And I’m more than willing to acknowledge that there’s nothing particularly ‘false’ about the moment itself; when it comes to love and sentiment, a couple in love can make those moments true for themselves, regardless of any outside mercenary forces working upon them.

Indeed, it’s the very fact that this was (and for more than a few, still is) a good day to stop and make a point of celebrating each other and our relationship together that makes the second half of his description so much a part of my current attitude. It’s a painful thing to have to notice, honey, and so it feels like it would be so much less so if it could just be overlooked entirely. Treat the day like any other day, and with any luck, I won’t think so much about what I no longer have, and it won’t hurt so much.

This attitude is hardly anything new, of course; even mere weeks after the accident, I was confronted with the situation of a holiday celebrating a love that had just been ripped away from me. At least back then, there was still the group assembling over the internet to play games together and talk, so even though it was a non-work day, I didn’t have that complete emptiness surrounding me (although the whole Covid-era isolation did no favors to myself or anyone who lost a loved one during that period). But there was no way to avoid and ignore it, given how fresh the situation was at that time.

And while the wound may not have been as fresh as all that in succeeding years, the day still had its moments. If nothing else, just as with the twenty-third of every month, the calendar cannot be completely ignored, even by one such as myself who isn’t as ruled by time as the average joe, thanks to my status as retired (thank you yet again for that, honey). I’ve been able to go about my business on this day in the past and overlook the fact that the day was Valentine’s Day, but generally – particularly since I’m writing to you, my own valentine – it’s hard to ignore, and the years it’s passed without notice have been fewer than those that addressed the elephant in the room, for better or for worse (if you’ll pardon the expression).

And this time around, it’s that much more difficult to ignore, since it’s back to being on the weekend again. I might be able to bury myself in ‘work’ during the week, but on a Saturday? Well, my only hope to ignore the moment would come from being assigned to work in the booth – and that wouldn’t take my mind off of it until midway through the day. Although it’s possible that, if combined with the Bible study in the morning (never mind that I go there in lieu of time with you on Saturday morning) and the next few hours watching stuff with Daniel until Logan decides to come downstairs to join the rest of the living, I might be able to keep sufficiently otherwise occupied as to not give the matter that much thought, but eventually the boys would go off and do their own thing together, and I would be left contemplating the situation. There’s only so much I can do, and for so long, to drown the reminders out.

It’s probably exacerbated by these attempts to tell you about things that are going on; when there isn’t much in the present to relate, what else is there for me to tell you about, apart from what the present is? This rather focuses my attention on what day it is to a point where I might not think about it otherwise, which may be a particularly foolish decision on my part.

But it’s that same lack to brings me to you in the first place; what else is there to do some days but to reach out to you and let a little bit more of my spirit out to you. I can’t be the only one who’s dealing with this sort of thing. And while I wish I could fill the moment with thoughts of someone else to shower affection and sentiment on, that’s not an option yet. So here we are.

Of course, I realize that time flows differently where you are; it’s quite likely that temporal markers such as days, months or even years don’t exist, let alone holidays. To be sure, it may way be that, in the presence of the Lord, every ‘day’ is a holiday in the sense of being a ‘holy day,’ but that doesn’t carry quite the same meaning as we have for it – and certainly, a day like this one wouldn’t be celebrated up there, now, would it?

I wonder, though… presumably, love is perfected up there to that level of ἀγάπη which we here on earth just aren’t capable of, as much as we may aspire to it. What does it look like? What does it feel like? Will a day come when we are capable of it here? Or should I continue to try to ignore this day and however many of its siblings that may pass by in what’s left of my time here?

Regardless, I should go and get on with my day, and see what I can do about setting the day aside for now. Do keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck; I’m sure I’m going to need it.