The Gabos family working in the flower shop before Valentine’s Day.
My father was born February, 22 1907 in Budapest Hungary. Fifty plus years later, the day the newspaper reporter came to interview my family. That timeremains etched on my memory. I recall feeling apprehensive as the reporter talked to us. My parents’ English communication was still very poor. We had been in America only a few years. Both my parents attended night school for English and Citizenship. I answered the reporter’s questions. The reporter arrived only minutes after I got home from swim practice, my hair was still wet. My mother directed me to put on my nicest sweater. It was turquoise and it was my favorite. Reading the story today, I notice misquotes and details that were incorrectly reported. But the story is essentially true.
Our son Daniel was born February 21 in Palm Bay Florida in our home and my
husband John delivered him. It was a beautiful warm sunny day. Danny was born in the afternoon. John and I had an incredible experience seeing our last child born. It was a day full wonder and joy. We counted those days in February as miraculous. My mother was recovering from surgery. Ili and Patrick, at that ime 4 and 3 years old, spent time with my mother and father in their home on the Indian River. There they played happily in the shade of palm trees. My mother was healing after surgery. Dark days were ahead of us, but those February days were magical.
The picture is just a few months after Danny’s birth.
February holds a special place in my heart. I met my husband in 1967 February. I received my first Valentine’s Day card from him that year.
I spend birthday celebrations and Valentine’s Day in sweet revere.
We want to the lake in Reid Park last February, in the last months of my dear one’s life. Those days were precious than and now in memory. My dear one passed away a few months later.The first year without receiving a Valentine’s Day card from my sweetheart was in 2015.
