In love.

Valentine's Day had always been kind of a fun holiday for me. It was full of love and hearts and pinks and reds and things that were supposed to be symbolic of love. Chocolates and balloons and dinners out and flowers. Sure, people ripped it up and down, claimed it was a "Hallmark Holiday," and refused to participate. I can assure you that every wife and girlfriend that I knew that had a husband that thought like this was angrily taking a break from social media that day and secretly hoping their significant others would maybe reconsider and join the rest of the Valentine's lemmings. Go ahead and die on that hill, fellas.

During my marriage I always had relatively good Valentine's Days. I liked to celebrate with the kids and I would inevitably end up with my favorite chocolates, flowers, candy - all that is good and Instagram worthy. 

So last Valentine's Day, in the very beginnings of hell-year, right around the time the ex decided to abruptly move out, there were no flowers, there were no chocolates. But what I did find was a receipt of his left behind dated February 14th. Showing two lunches. Happy Valentine's Day.

I bought the biggest stuffed animal for the kids. One of those giant, obnoxious stuffed caterpillars that was as long as my daughter's bed. I bought the kids chocolates and tried...tried...to celebrate it. Honestly, if nothing more than to mask the what the hell is going on just beneath the surface.

There was an old Spanish poem I learned in high school Spanish class. I don't quite remember it line by line but I remember the last line translated to when love is lost where does it go?

Yeah, I know Valentine's Day isn't the keeper of all that is love but it sure did represent an absence of love last year. It was not lost on me that I was feeling the most unloved during the social media holy grail of love month posts.

Love takes on many forms, though. It was actually not lost at all. It just shape shifted and recalculated into something much more life saving and life affirming. And it was exactly what I needed.

Love showed up.

It was my best friend and her husband bringing me flowers for mothers day, giving me family, taking us in, buying my favorite candies and wine and letting the kids and me stay the night while we cursed the hand that was dealt - and the dealer - just so I wouldn't have to go home to my empty house where I used to share my old life that was no longer living there.

It was my best friend answering every single phone call and never hanging up until I got it all out. 

It was girlfriends who shared breakfasts and brunches and beers.

It was friends who helped me embrace the once terrifying single-hood, showing me what nighttime with 90s music and tacos after midnight looked like. I smile writing that.

It was my team for loving me through. It was other women in my company - my sisters - offering to take over for a little while so I could breath.

It was my partner for listening to me every single day. 

It was my upline who said, "Oh, honey, you were just too much for him."

It was with friends who I discussed dating and douchey guys over raspberry beers and fried food.

It was friends who prayed over me, sent me messages, sent love.

I consider myself on a well worn path toward healing. I'm not 100% healed but I'm definitely leaps and bounds beyond last year. I attended an event this last weekend called Moxie Matters where Jen Hatmaker spoke and Nichole Nordeman sang her songs and told stories to go along with them. Her songs were so beautiful and the stories she was telling of her own struggles and divorce - those words - they stirred up all that dust that lays at the bottom of the heart. It was coming. I couldn't wipe the tears away fast enough. 

I hate crying in public. Absolutely despise it. But it was coming like a flash flood. 

I had a friend to my left and a friend to my right. The floodgates opened, I felt all the blood and tears and pain dust rush to my face and out of my eyes in the middle of a giant, shoulder to shoulder packed church. I dropped my face to my hands so I could completely cover it and I swear my entire face had a heartbeat. And I cried. As quietly as I could possibly control. 

And to my left and to my right, arms reached over and around me and embraced me until I was done and I could lift my face again and breathe. 

I turned to my friend on the right and asked her, "Is my mascara okay?" She assured me it was.

That's love.