Their first encounter was what dreams are made of.
John was a dashing young attorney from Bartlesville, Oklahoma, and Carolyn was a flight attendant from Brooklyn, New York. Both found themselves in Fort Worth, Texas. Their story began when John had a date with a young stewardess. He arrived early at her apartment door, ready for an evening of dining and dancing. But as soon as he laid eyes on her roommate, the rest of the night became a blur.
John returned to his apartment early, where his roommate was surprised to see him back so soon. It was then that John, with absolute certainty, declared, “Tonight, I met the girl I’m going to marry.” His roommate, shocked, asked, “Wow! Really? Your date went that well?” John replied, “No—her roommate. I’m going to marry that girl.”
Determined, John returned to her apartment building every night, holding a bouquet of flowers, riding the elevator up and down, waiting for the moment he would see her again. Finally, the doors opened, and there she was. His heart raced as she looked up and greeted him by name.
“Hello, John, nice to see you again. You must have a date tonight.”
“Well, hello again, Carolyn. Yes, I do—but I’d rather take you out, if that would be okay?”
She agreed, and as both my parents retold their story, they always said, “And the rest was history.”
They married soon after, on February 14, 1954—Valentine’s Day.
Their marriage was blessed with five children, nine grandchildren, and great-grandchildren who continue to carry on their legacy. Because their love was such a testament, we chose to marry on Valentine’s Day as well. We cherished celebrating our anniversary with my parents each year. February 14th was more than just a day for couples—it was a celebration of love for our entire family.
And celebrate we did—singing, dancing, and laughing. My parents taught us to rejoice and count our blessings, even through the hard times… especially through the hard times.
In their later years, my amazingly brilliant and creative mother slipped far from us. Though Alzheimer’s stole our devoted mom, wife, artist, and matriarch, my dad never left her side or loved her any less. I remember him whispering to me, with tears in his eyes, “Bedtime is my favorite time of day—it’s the only time your mother still lets me hold her hand. And I hold her hand all night long, remembering for the both of us.”
Now, my parents are both gone. It’s lonely celebrating our anniversaries without them, and Valentine’s Day will never be quite the same. But I know they are together—Forever Valentines.
February 14th will always be my favorite day. As my parents taught us, we will celebrate, live life, and always find the joy.
"Love is patient, love is kind… Love never fails."
—1 Corinthians 13:4-8
Kathleen Kirwan-Haynie