The Unspoken Depths of Love: A Memoir on Sacrifice and Remembrance

The most profound love stories often carry the weight of sacrifice and rising above adversity. This was certainly true of my father’s journey.

I experienced a devastating loss during my freshman year of high school when my father passed away in early February. His wake coincided with Valentine’s Day, a day that always seemed bittersweet. As the funeral attendant shut his casket, they handed me a single rose from the floral arrangement on top. It felt like a dark twist on a day that would remain somber for many years.

As a teenager, I felt somewhat out of place among peers who associated Valentine’s Day with chocolates and simple joys. But when I discovered that Valentine’s Day honors a Christian martyr, I began to appreciate how some of the most impactful love stories throughout history don’t conclude with happy endings.

In today’s world, Valentine’s Day is heavily commercialized, celebrated mostly for romance or any affection worthy of a card or gift. However, the original Valentine is believed to be a third-century saint executed under Roman Emperor Claudius II. His story represents a love that transcends fleeting affections—a kind of love that isn’t easy to commercialize.

His life wasn’t about romance, but about self-sacrifice to the point of death. For Christians, Valentine’s Day is a reminder that love shows itself in numerous ways, especially through sacrifice.

Although my father wasn’t a martyr, as cancer claimed his life, he lived in a way that profoundly influenced me. Early in his illness, my parents earnestly prayed for his recovery, but they didn’t cling blindly to their hopes for a miracle. They believed in the possibility of a miracle but practiced holding their hopes lightly, teaching us children to do the same.

On the day my parents informed us of my dad’s cancer diagnosis, he looked all six of us in the eye and said, “We’ve discovered that Daddy has cancer. But whether I live or die, we’re committed to ensuring my life glorifies God.” At the time, such trust felt foreign to me, yet it has permanently shaped my faith.

Another lasting lesson from my father’s life was how he cherished his final years. Despite his illness, he devoted great effort to making memories with our family. A few summers before he passed, my parents took us on a memorable family trip. Even in a wheelchair, he insisted on being part of most photos. He was in pain, but he chose to be present.

Close to the end, while watching a movie together, one of his favorite songs began playing during the credits. He declared it the song I would learn to swing dance to and got up—with oxygen tubes still in his nose—to dance with me until he could no longer stand. I know doing so caused him immense pain, yet he did it out of love. Each Valentine’s Day, I remember my father and the love he showed until his last breath.

I also remember my mother, who embodied a love that persevered even after his death, stepping into the role of a single parent to raise six children. Her dedication was often unnoticed by others but was a true testament to her love.

During a tumultuous period in high school, I projected my grief and anger towards her, believing my resentment might ease the pain of losing my father. In response, she created a letterbox for me to express any feelings I had about her. She responded to my anger with grace, which gradually softened my heart. I may never fully understand the depth of her patience and kindness.

In my roles as a parent and pastor, I am just beginning to grapple with the gap between idealized love and the realities it demands of us. In doing so, I grow increasingly in awe of Jesus, who fills that gap perfectly. His choice to be humbled—first as a human and finally on the cross—offers a model for those aspiring to follow His path.

On our journey toward self-sacrificial love, we remain recipients first and foremost. As recipients, we are strengthened on this journey, even as it leads us through unexpected challenges.

When my parents imagined their future together, neither foresaw the trials they would face. Their story wasn’t one anyone would choose, but it has taught me about the Gospel more profoundly than any sermon could. Their imperfect but dedicated example echoes Jesus’s words: “Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24, ESV). Without sacrifice, love remains mere sentiment.

Sentiments are fine, and I’ll surely savor some Valentine’s Day chocolates this year. But Christian hope is unique in its assurance that when sentiments fail, sacrificial love endures. Our society’s fascination with Valentine’s Day reveals our search for that deeper love, and its profound nature continually surprises, reminding us why it’s worth proclaiming.