I loved Margaret. She loved me. Every year I gave her a Valentine Card in person. Every year she reacted as if I had given her something special, but they were only cheap basic cards. My words were the same each year, a reminder of how special Margaret was for me. The children found it amusing when they were young, and endearing when they were old enough to appreciate how much their parents loved each other that a simple card could produce so much response.
Of course I told her that I loved her many times every year and always on the anniversary of our wedding day, on her birthday, and New Year. But Valentine's Day was special for both of us.
Why had she reacted so much to the first one? She had broken up with her previous boyfriend about six months earlier, not after an argument but because they had realised that their life priorities had been different. He wanted to travel, to see the world, and perhaps settle down in his thirties. Margaret wanted stability because her parents had dragged her around Europe as a youngster. She wanted a base, somewhere she could make her home, and someone with whom she could build a family. I was boring, conventional but secure. My card reminded her that I had been her friend and neighbour for years, helping whenever she needed me, no matter what her current relationship might be. My card stating 'All My Love' she recognised as a sincere declaration from me. She said, years later, that opening that card was like recognising what she had been overlooking for months -- that I loved her for who she was, not as who she might be.
Sixty plus years ago we were very decorous. Until we were engaged we didn't go further than hugs and kisses. Even after I was her fiancé we kept everything above the waist, even in private. Margaret was a virgin on her wedding night. So was I. We soon learned how to please each other, in and out of bed. Sixty years later we still knew how and although slower and more measured, we enjoyed sex.
She had faults; so did I. But we knew and accepted our flaws. She would push me outside my comfort zone where I was often too staid. She would have short-lived enthusiasms that didn't last, such as making her own clothes despite her incompetence. I would support her endeavours and live with her disappointments -- until the next new hobby.
I sold my house. We bought our own larger house with help from both sets of parents. We paid off the mortgage while we were both working. Margaret became pregnant with our first-born six months after our final repayment. She worked part-time for two years before she became pregnant again and became a full-time mother to the grandmother's relief. My mother-in-law coped admirably with the first baby but admitted she would have struggled with a two year old and a baby. Even Margaret found that an ordeal. Sometimes I would come home from work to find a tearful wife and fractious children.
But I loved her; she loved me; we both loved the children. The yearly Valentine Card brightened Margaret's low point in early February. We had lost a baby late in a January and the anniversary was sad for both of us. She knew she would get it and that I really meant the words I wrote each year.
I never understood why Margaret chose me. I knew she loved me, almost as much as I loved her. Each morning I had a brief sense of disbelief that she was in bed beside me. I hated leaving her to go to work but however busy she was she would kiss me as I left. I would be hugged as soon as I was home unless the children were being demanding. If so, I'd get the hug and kiss when she could.
I have been retired for decades. I was worried that being home all day would be boring and would upset Margaret's routine. She didn't let me be bored, dragging me out for various activities and showing that she wanted me, every day.
But now it was time for me to say my last goodbye. At the end of January Margaret had a stroke. She lived barely long enough to get to the hospital with me holding her hand in the ambulance. She gave me a crooked smile, and then she was gone.
I had already bought this year's Valentine Card and had written 'With All My Love' inside it, ready to give it to her on Valentine's Day which is now the date of her funeral. We didn't make it to our sixtieth wedding anniversary. That didn't matter. Last year we had celebrated the sixtieth anniversary of that first Valentine Card -- in bed.
Now I have to say a few words about Margaret to the assembled family and friends. As I walk to the pulpit I place the last Valentine Card on her coffin. It will be buried with her.
I look around. Our son and daughter, their children and our great-grandchildren are all looking at me. All of them are reminders of how much Margaret and I shared our love for over sixty years.
I'll tell them about that first, and now the last Valentine Card. I won't cry. I have had so much love for those sixty years that I need to celebrate, not regret.
"Margaret -- you still have all my love."
