The delicate relationship between parent and child has weighed heavily on my mind in recent days as I continually evaluate the past thirty years of my life. I am officially ( by society's standards, at least) an adult and my relationship with my parents in in continual flux. I know that this will be even more prevalent as my parents age and I assume more of a caretaker role, especially since I am the oldest child by thirteen years. I am fortunate to have very young parents who, hopefully, will keep their physical and mental capacities for many, many more years but the hard truth is that things happen. Unexpected things. Tragic and traumatic things and lives can change in an instant. I had intended to write about the complications of changing parent/child roles and perhaps I will come back to this soon. Instead, I would like to address a far more important topic: Love. Love for your family and friends and whom ever holds a special place in your heart.
While I was doing some reading in preparation for tonight's entry about the constantly changing intricacies of family dynamics, I read something written by a friend that stopped me dead in my tracks:
Love. Give love, whether or not the recipient wants or deserves it. Tell people you love them. They need to know.
No truer words have ever been written.
It's hard to give love to someone who is resistant or who makes themselves seem 'unlovable' and loving them despite of this is the truest sign of commitment that a person can give. Maybe the person has suffered and uses distance and an unpleasant persona to keep themselves from being hurt again. Loss (of any sort) is painful and in the same way a person shies from things known to be physically painful, it is sometimes deemed in the interest of self preservation to also avoid things that are emotionally painful. It is the person who so strongly denies love that often needs it the most.
As for not deserving love, there are in my opinion, sadly, many reasons that a person may forfeit there right to receive love. People do terrible, heinous things to each other and there are times when I am shocked by the compassion that comes from tragedy. I have heard accounts of victims of horrific crimes who have told their attackers that they love them. They have told the people who have taken something from them, be it a loved one, or the feeling of security and personal safety and more, that they forgive them. That they love them. I can not imagine this kind of compassion and how painful that sort of love must be.
The "tell people you love them" portion applies to absolutely anyone you care about, but especially to family, if you ask me. I can't tell you how many times I have taken my anger and frustration out on those closest to me or blown off my loved ones for a worthless cause. It's amazing how quickly I am to dismiss those closest to me because I know that they will always be there and have my back. I wouldn't dream of treating a stranger the way I treat my family sometimes because I know I will be judged by a stranger, but never by those who love me. I am fortunate in this regard. I don't tell these people often enough that I love them because I assume they know. But there have been times when I have had to suck up my pride and tell someone that I love them because I was so afraid that something would happen to either them or me and they wouldn't know how much they meant to me. This happened to me once, many, many years ago, and it haunts me to this day. A week and day before I turned twelve I spoke to my five-year-old brother on the phone (he was out of town and would returning home the next day). We finished our conversation about how the neighbor boy hit him in the eye with a rock and, as we were readying to hang up the phone, he said, "I love you TT". I had never before neglected to tell him that I loved him, but that day, for whatever reason, I didn't say it back. I replied with, "I'll see you tomorrow". That was all. That was the last conversation I ever had with my brother because he died in a car accident on his way home the next day. If there was just one thing I could go back and change, it would be that my little brother would know exactly how much I loved him, but I assumed that I would get the chance. As James Taylor sang, "I always thought I'd see you again". Sadly, it's not always the case.
Love is hard and love hurts because it makes raw and vulnerable the most precious and delicate parts of ourselves. It touches us in places that nothing else can reach and allows us to access emotional and physical feelings inaccessible by any other means. While talking about her two young sons, a friend told me that having children was the best and worst thing that ever happened to her because she loved them more than she had ever imagined possible. She said the high you get from that kind of love is indescribable, but when they hurt you, you feel pain like you have never felt before. I wish for all of us that we experience, and learn from, the highs and lows and love. And please, tell someone that you love them, even if you know they know how you feel, and especially if you don't.
I love you M,D,S & C.
No comments:
Post a Comment