A Valentine for Harlequin's Anniversary by Catherine Mann Read Free Book Online Page A

had mistakenly shoved it in with the Christmas stuff.
    The photos were all rejects.

    You know which ones I mean. The good shots had long ago been culled out and placed in albums for everyone to see. These were the photos that hadn’t quite made the grade, but they were suddenly very precious because we’d lost all our family albums during Katrina. The Christmas decorations had been in the attic during the hurricane and had survived, thankfully, and I thought all my photos were lost until I found this stash. It was far better than finding gold.
    Many of the photos were out of focus and the lighting was off, but as I went through each one, I saw them for the miracles that they are. Yes, I know that sounds corny, but it’s how I felt.
    All the shots were taken in the late ‘80s, two decades ago when my children were still in the rug-rat stage. Before finding the photos, if you had asked me about that year, I would have told you how hard it was. I was a stay-at-home mom with three kids, one of them autistic, and all under the age of five. My husband was an Air Force captain, and since I wasn’t working, money was tight. In addition, he was working a sixty-hour week, and that meant I was home a lot with three rowdy kids. Added to that, we were on an assignment that I hated and were living in an old base house that was beyond depressing. Those were my memories of that year-the stress, the lack of sleep, the isolation. And then I found those pictures.
    That year was all there in the photos. The non-posed shots where someone blinked. Or cried. Or got too antsy before the picture was snapped. I saw the smiles that hadn’t been coaxed, the happiness that couldn’t be hidden, and the precious ordinary moments we shared as a family.
    In that box, there was a picture of my daughter’s first birthday. No, this wasn’t a shot of the birthday cake and presents; those had gone into one of the lost albums. In this picture, she was walking out to greet her dad who was coming home early from work so we could celebrate her birthday. There was another shot of my sons wrestling on the floor-a rare moment indeed since my autistic son rarely joined the roughhouse play. Yet, there he was smiling-another rarity.
    I believed in love before I found the photos. I believe in love every time I kiss my husband or hug my kids. But in those images from two decades ago, I saw the love. My daughter’s smile. My sons’ playfulness. My exhausted husband who still found the energy to listen to every little detail that the kids wanted to tell him about their day, and then he would listen to me. All of that’s captured in the images.
    The love had always been there, of course, but I’d never felt it that strong and had never seen it as clearly as I did in those imperfect pictures. Of course, I boo-hoo’ed all over the place, and my kids, who are now in college, couldn’t understand my reaction and mumbled something about mom being hormonal. That’s okay. One day, they’ll get it. One day, they’ll see photos of their own families and will understand.
    So, that’s why I believe in love.
    Because I found some old photos stuffed in a Payless shoe box, and they reminded me that love isn’t a place, or the stuff, or even the lack of stuff. It’s not just the good, nor the bad. It’s the people. It’s my family.
    — Delores Fossen
    #33

    I believe in love because I know love. And the love I’m going to talk about today is the love of my new baby daughter, Bridget. I’d love to share with you some moments with her that assure me love is truly alive and well in the world.
    My favourite photograph of us together is in the hospital, waking up as the sun rose on her third day. Still in my PJs, with bed hair and no make-up, I am holding her close, her head tucked beneath my chin. I look at this photo even now and it brings tears to my eyes because I can still remember the swell of unconditional love that surged through me as that trusting little critter