Every couple has that one special song. Hearing just a few phrases and notes can evoke memories of a moment. Even after the couple uncouples, that same song plucks at heartstrings and morphs into sentimental souvenirs that have been gingerly tucked away.

Before I get carried away with too many mixed metaphors and sappy nostalgia, I have to confess a little self-indulgence. You see, 23 years ago I wrote my first column. It was draped in newlywed fabric tailor-fit for Valentine’s Day. I felt compelled to write about the many splendors of love in full cliche fashion.

Now that I am newly unwed, I still feel compelled to write about this topic that makes and breaks so many hearts. Movies, novels, plays, poetry, and of course music can entertain and intrigue. But when they capture the intensity of love, then they capture your heart.

One song has stayed with me since I was a little girl. Every time I hear it, I miss the person I heard it with. I grew up going to supper clubs and taverns, listening to Big Band music, and watching old movies with my father. A melancholy black-and-white film called “The Joker is Wild” came on television one afternoon, and I was entranced when Frank Sinatra sang “All the Way.” My father unconsciously crooned along as he finished his crossword puzzle.

This song captured more than my heart. It entangled me in the possibility of immeasurable love. So deep that your heart aches and soars at the same time. So beautiful that the most lonesome feeling dissolves into the most weightless joy. This song became reality for me more than once in my life. For this, I am grateful and reminded of Tennyson’s poetic penning of “better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

But the words written by Sammy Cahn for this song that won an Academy Award for Best Original Song in 1957 have come to mean more to me than romantic love. The lyrics, “When somebody loves you/ It’s no good unless he loves you all the way/ Happy to be near you/ When you need someone to cheer you all the way,” seem schmaltzy until you hear them set to the transporting music by Jimmy Van Heusen. Then they become eloquent. They rekindle the wonder-filled feeling of giving and receiving a kind of love that requires you to be completely, continuously, and compassionately part of someone else.

Funny that my Valentine dribble more than two decades after my first foray strays from the lovers’ day set aside for chocolates, flowers and cards. Instead, I am thinking about my father, who would have turned 85 next week. He taught me that hearts ache when we love, that breaks mend when we love, and that we’re alive when we love. When disappointments came, he reminded me to do all that I can, and that’s all I can do. He showed me that there’s no point in doing anything unless I did it “all the way.” And then he would wink and pinch my cheek. It’s been 10 years since my father died. I still miss him more than I’ve ever missed anyone. I still watch old movies and feel tender when I hear Frank Sinatra songs.

I’m also thinking about my two children. I used to read a picture book called “Guess How Much I Love You” to them at bedtime. There’s a line in the book that says, “all the way to the moon and back.” Now my daughter is 16, my son turned 18 last week, and I’m thinking how I love them all the way. I’m thinking about how their hearts will soar and fall many times through many loves. I hope that when they do love, that they will love all the way.

And when I hear Frank Sinatra sing that song, I’ll melt like warm Valentine chocolate into the memories and possibilities of love.