Your mom had always been the most hopeless of romantics.
Growing up, she had always seemed to have some sort of cheesy romance movie playing on the small, glass screen of the family television. Anytime you’d be playing with your toys, reading a book, doing your homework, or even helping your family make dinner for that night- There was always one of the world’s greatest love stories to accompany your memory.
You remember the time your dad made you laugh so hard that water came out your nose with the time that Richard Gere professed his love to Julia Roberts on her fire escape.
You remember the time that you accidently spilled your paint on the living room carpet with the time that Rose promised to never let go of Jack.
You remember the time your cat had knocked over your mom’s favorite vase with the time that everyone forgot it was Molly Ringwald’s sixteenth birthday.
She had these movies always on loop, to have a constant reminder that love exists and that love conquers all. She would put you to bed every night, always coming up with some sort of butterfly inducing tale of an epic love story that seemed so magical your wide eyes would sparkle in a way they never had until she uttered those words. On rainy days when your dad was at work, your mom would blast Celine Dion from the cheap speakers, she found on one of her garage sale hunts, and twirl you around the house singing the lyrics as loud as she could. She would always make a point of telling you and your dad just how much you all meant to her and how much she loved you. Every Tuesday she would take you to the public library after school, searching for another romance novel to tie her over for the week.
She loved to love.
Suddenly, everything you’ve come to know came crashing down in a matter of minutes.