A Flower for Every Valentine's Day

February 14 – The day of love, the day where everywhere is filled with red and passion, the day when most people experience the best or the worst, the happiest or saddest confessions in their life. Many have dedicated themselves to their lovers, admirers, boyfriends/girlfriends, siblings and friends. I dedicate my Valentine’s Day to a special person. This person is someone who already has a special place in my heart before anyone did, that special person I have called, Dad.

I know that many dedicate this day for their parents, most especially for their mother, but I would want it to be with my father. He was a kind man. Always smiling and loving me dearly, of course, it was only natural for a parent to love their child, but the way he treated me made me feel special. He would treat me like a princess, as if I was fragile porcelain doll that would break with the slightest of touch. My heart would brim with euphoria. Everyday it was a great and inspiring day! His sweet words that gave me motivation, his hugs that gave me encouragement, and his kisses that gave me the best of luck, they all always made me feel safe. Everything he did made my life filled with colors. From the playful banters to the secret outings, it made me feel as if I was truly loved and that I was someone that my father held dearly.

A smile would always form whenever it was Valentine’s Day. On every Valentine’s Day, my dad would always give me a flower. It was just a single flower but it gave me the jitters and giggles. It was sweet and this simply flower had me jumping all around. My mom would always laugh at my childish antics. Every Valentine’s was filled with laughter; it was like reliving my birthday.

I remember as a young girl, I would wait in anticipation for my dad to come home with chocolates. It was a small kind of special routine for him and me. He would come home with sweets and flowers, and we would both surprise my mom with them. It was joyous, and then on my 6th Valentine’s Day, something different happened.

I recall waiting for my flower that day, but my father never gave anything. I was mad. It was our special routine and he broke it. I was such a needy and sulky child; I only thought about myself, it was so shameful. I had been pouting the entire day until I saw my mom crying. My dad wasn’t home so I pieced everything together with my brain. My childish thoughts came up with a conclusion. He didn’t give my mom anything as well. My head boiled in anger. “This was so rude of him!”, my 6 year-old self exclaimed. I went to comfort my mom. Telling her that even without a gift, dad still loves her. My mom hugged me tightly, her tears staining my clothes. I returned the hug, happy that my mom accepted my comfort. She mumbled something, making me tilt my head, urging her to continue. I wish I had not been such a spoiled person. What I heard made my whole life stopped.

“Your father…he is in the hospital.”

My mom shakily breathed out as she cried out. I froze, not wanting to believe this. Maybe it was a minor injury, or maybe he visited someone, or better yet this was a surprise! A big surprise that dad had my mom acting like this! I foolishly tried to convince myself. My mom hastily told me that we needed to see him so we went to the hospital. My heart was beating against my chest as fear consumed me. When we entered, tears fell out of my eyes like rapid waterfall. My dad laid on the bed, with wires on his arm and nose, machines were around him beeping slowly, as if anticipating a slight halt or a long pause. He gave out a weak smile as he tried to wave his hand. My mom forced down her tears and returned the smile painfully. They conversed like they normally did, but I could feel the sorrow in my mom’s voice. My dad motioned me to move close. I did.

“I’m sorry, my little sunshine, I couldn’t give you a flower today.”

I cried out as I heard that sentence from him. I was so naïve, so inconsiderate. I only thought myself. I apologized to him over and over again, but the guilt inside was growing even more. My dad gave a weak laugh and told me it was fine, and that he was at fault. My tears wouldn’t stop. What kind of daughter am I? To think that my dad was someone rude, I was such a disgrace!

I bought him a flower, saying it was my turn to give him. It was for a change, so that when he gets better, we could exchange gifts and that would be our new routine. So we could make brand new memories. So the happiness in our family would bloom and grow. Sadly, that was impossible, as it seems. After 2 months of being in the room, my dad passed away. I was there with him. By the time I found out, he had his last breathe. I couldn’t hear his last words. I couldn’t tell him goodbye nor could I have said my love to him.. I won’t hear his funny laugh. I won’t see his cheeky grins and playful smiles. I won’t feel his warm hugs and snuggles. I won’t be able to play games with him. I won’t get to see him anymore. That day, I bought a bouquet of flowers for him, my face was stained with dry tears, as I tried to muster a smile, but I couldn’t. My mom had cried for days and she still didn’t want to accept this. I didn’t as well, but as time went on, we all slowly did.

Now every Valentine’s Day, it would remind me of him. Of the day he never gave me that flower, of the day my mom cried so much, and of the day my life changed drastically. I decided that on every Valentine’s Day, I would shower him with flowers and gifts, like he used to do for me. It was now my turn. It was a change. It was now my new special routine for my loving father and I.

This is a real life story based from Aithérios' classmate. This is simply a revised version so some events may not have gone this way.

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