The L word
You know the word I am talking about – love. It’s a word used too freely, to my mind, and can describe how we feel about almost anything – our favourite ice cream flavour, or food, or place to go. We throw it around casually. It’s the word young people in love long to hear another say to them.
Some people find it easy and are quick to say I love you. And they do – to friends, family even their pets. I am not one of those. I never heard these words growing up and was probably in my thirties before I heard my mom say them to me. We did not have that kind of relationship. I discovered years later that I suffered from detachment syndrome which meant I kept almost everyone at arm’s length, even my family.
I was not the kid who had plenty of friends. I stayed in the shadows, trying not to be noticed. I preferred team sports than individual ones. I was shy, reserved, quiet. I didn’t have or go to sleep overs.
As my mom got older, she would always finish her phone calls with ‘love you lots’. I never responded in kind. For years I went through the agony of thinking I loved no-one and did not even know what love was so was incapable of loving or uttering the words to anyone, even my mother. I could tell you what love wasn’t, not what it was.
A very wise person once told me that I was demonstrating love in what I did for people around me. Sitting with that friend who just needed a body close by; making bagels for the friend who was gluten intolerant; shopping for a friend in need; sending flowers because they’re having a tough day.
Mom lived with my sister, and she chirped at me one day. She told me my mom thought I didn’t love her because I never told her I did. I just couldn’t utter the words. My sister thought I should just say the words anyway. They were so distorted to me. Consider how it could have been any different when the person abusing you as child then uttered the words, I love you. So, what does love look like to that kid? If that was love, I didn’t want it. I had to learn to reject that definition of love. The good news is, I was able to tell mom I loved her before she died and mean it.
Over the years, I have had various codes for I love you. One was the word vomit. My friend’s 4 year once told her, I love you so much I could vomit. So instead of saying I love you to me, she would just say vomit. It was easier for me to hear than I love you, but it meant the same. I had another friend who would say I love you every time we parted and the best I could do was laugh and say ditto. She hated that but it’s all I could manage.
In South Africa, people often say, love you lots like jelly tots. Some of my Saffa friends will just say jelly tots to me. That’s their way of telling me they love me and are ok with me just saying it to them.
I don’t tell many people I love them. It’s still hard for me to say. But to those I do, they know I mean the words even though I still struggle in some ways to know what love is. I am learning that love is patient and kind, covers a multitude of sins, doesn’t bear a grudge, forgives and wants the best for the other person. It is less distorted these days for sure, but I still use the phrase sparingly.
Your bagels are utter love to me.