My Father was an incurable romantic.  I miss him so much.  None of the “negative” stuff matters when the person is gone from your life forever.  My Dad would remember the smallest thing my Mom mentioned she liked, and he would get it for her as a present.  He would cry when he heard certain songs, when he witnessed suffering he couldn’t heal, and he loved life and lived it with zeal.  Of course he wasn’t perfect – who is?  I buy my own birthday cards, if we can afford it, or for whatever holiday is imminent.  The important thing is that my husband is there for me, day in, day out, and does his best for our whole family.  It may not seem like romance, but it is.  It’s being there.

Published by janetlandis

I am a mother, a nurse, a caregiver and a writer.

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