We had a family mug Christmas exchange this year. First time ever, and it was nice. My sister suggested it, and it seems like everyone is getting along to the point where we can do things like this. Names were drawn randomly, and I got my niece. She’s 19, just off to college at OSU, and always been a sweet kid. I put together a design that had a picture of an albino cardinal they found in their yard, and a quote from one of her favorite shows, Downtown Abbey. It felt good to do something nice and personal, and she seemed to like it. I saw her tonight at the family get together for my Dad’s side. She handed me a card and said thank you. I opened it when I got home, and it was so sweet. She thanked me for the mug, and said it would be going back to college with her because it makes her happy. But the weird thing was how she signed the card. “I love you so much! Love, Julia.”
Now obviously that’s not actually a weird thing. It’s a beautiful thing, and it made my heart smile. But what is weird about it is that she is so comfortable expressing that. Kudos to my brother and wife for making that acceptable.
I can’t remember the last time that I told my nieces that I love them. Maybe when they were little. Because you can always tell a little kid that you love them. Of course I love my nieces, and my nephews, and my brother and sister and dad and extended family members. There is just a strange discomfort tied to the word love for me, and I think for my siblings, too. I don’t remember mom ever saying “I love you” growing up. And I don’t say that as an exaggeration. I really don’t remember her ever uttering that phrase. Towards the end, when she was in the hospital, she did. One of the last things she said before being wheeled back for surgery was “I love you.” She was scared, and in that moment maybe she actually meant it. It was one of the last things I ever heard her say. My sister said it back immediately, cause she’s good like that. I did tell my mom I loved her. It was for her benefit, and the words seemed difficult to actually get out of my throat, but they came. It felt hollow and uncomfortable, like many of the acts done to appease my mother. I’m glad I did it, and hopefully hearing that from her kids was one of her last conscious memories.
Receiving love has always been a difficult thing, and even hearing those simple words can be difficult to take. I just am not sure what to do with them. Perhaps more accurately, I just don’t trust them. I have learned that the words are easy to say, and most times the actions don’t match those words. In large part, that’s because I have engaged in really unhealthy relationships, where real love was never possible to begin with.
I have also been fortunate to meet some really wonderful people in my life. Kind, compassionate, caring people. People who are able to give love, and verbalize it even! I am learning how to be ok with that. It’s funny how in the past week this has seemed to come to the forefront. I had the mom of an old childhood friend give me a big hug last week and say, “You know I love you, right?” It kind of stopped me in my tracks, and I froze — my usual reaction. Then I just said, “yeah, I know. I love you, too.” Because I do know, and it was ok to feel that for a minute, and to genuinely offer it back. It’s so sad that it’s such a foreign, awkwardly forced thing, and it’s one of the missing pieces that I’m trying to grow myself since it was never properly planted in childhood.
A couple of days later, I went out and had some drinks with a buddy. Good talks, perhaps spurred on by the rounds of drinks offered by the couple sitting next to us. They were from Myrtle Beach, had just gotten married, and introduced us to “picklebacks” — shots of Jameson chased with a shot of pickle juice. Surprisingly delicious, but doing shots of any kind is not what this middle aged body needs. Regardless, my friend and I had some deep conversation, and he texted me after he got home, “Great talks bro. Hey. I love u man.” Once again, not sure how to handle that, so I responded with, “back atcha!” He is a good friend, and a good soul, and I do love him. So what’s so hard about saying it?
My siblings and I have an odd dance around it, too. Every once in a blue moon, one of us will say it, and we know it means something, and it’s painful and uncomfortable and beautiful and joyous. My dad has taken to saying it often, and I’m slowly coming around to saying it back.
The one person I have never had any problem saying it to is my daughter. She knows I love her. I tell her every day. Hopefully she doesn’t have the same odd hang-ups that I do about it. I doubt she will. She has many people that love her, and they demonstrate that with both words and actions on a regular basis.
I know I have the same in my life. I am working on being ok with accepting it and verbalizing it more.
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