I asked God to appear with me on my Valentine’s Day after a one-night stand with a one-eyed bowl-cuted murderer bludgeoned my father to death with a bow and arrow in October of 1995. My prayers were answered, and here I am celebrating a day dedicated to making love sound for the first time in 10 years.

I wrote God telling him to take care of it, but I had no idea he could actually make love sound. Neither did I at the time. In fact, most people don’t know God can make love sound until they actually give it a try.

I prayed to God that he would let me release all the fear and sadness and grief and anxiety and frustration and nostalgia and resentment and anger and regret and resentment and guilt and guilt and doubt and regret and guilt and guilt and regret and guilt and regret and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt and guilt.

Why am I writing this? Because I grew up missing out on Valentine’s Day because my father was murdered on it.

I wasn’t born into any kind of vow or courtesies, as such. My father had no obligation to me and I didn’t have any obligation to him. He was my father, and I was his. And you know what? That just works. The only way to ever make me love Valentine’s Day is if I fully understand that, and that is nothing less than very personal thanks to God’s talent in creating a soothingly sweet musical sound that brings me to my knees in the morning—it’s so good—makes me feel like my father is still my father, and that can only happen if I have all of my marital problems dealt with in one day.

So you can see why God kept Valentine’s Day a mystery to me at first. Because for many years, I believed that the presence of music made me too impure, and so I missed it. But because I woke up with tears in my eyes and the sweet waft of someone whispering love into my ear, and then that waft spread around like the primordial perfume that is my father, those tears suddenly turned into a chorus of the sweetest waves. So I was told.