Is Love Unspoken, Still Love?
Rusty Watts
Growing up, it was no secret that I was the product of my mom’s eighteenth birthday celebration. A gift that she was unable to return that certainly took more than it gave. The year was 1974 and teenage pregnancy was taboo, abortion not yet legal. Although, even if it was, my mom has assured me that the idea of terminating the pregnancy had never even crossed her mind. Was that love? My father was considerably older than my mom, and, though they knew each other well, they were not involved in any kind of relationship. Love had played no role in my conception.
Within eight years of my birth, my mom would get married, give birth to three more boys, and get divorced. My mom was not the typical mom. Though she was a hard worker and did her best to make sure our needs were met, she was not one of those touchy-feely moms who would dote on her children. She never tucked us in before bed, and there were no cozy little bedtime stories to fall asleep to. She never hugged us. This was our existence, our normal.
When you’re a child you accept what you’re given. It would be years before I was conscious to the fact that, unlike every other mom I knew, my mom never told us how much or if she loved us. As an adult, I would realize that, as a child, love was more of a feeling and not rooted in any kind of physicality. I sensed my mom’s love the same way a person would sense anger or hatred. Later in life I would realize that my mom expressed her love through her actions and that, when she became angry with us, she was indeed showing us her love. For, if she didn’t love us, would she care enough to get angry? If only I had been aware of this as a child.
Once, when I was ten, I stole a pack of Bubble Yum bubble gum from the local grocery store, had I exercised a little patience, I would have gotten away with it. However, I decided on our walk home to indulge. My mom, having realized that bubble gum was not on the grocery list, and that I had no money to buy gum, knew that I had stolen it. She became very angry and started screaming at me. She then proceeded to walk me back to the store to own up to my wrongdoing. At the time I could not understand why. I had gotten away with the theft at no cost to her. But now I see, in that moment, that she loved me.
When I watch movies with my kids and the story depicts this perfect family with the overly affectionate mom, I must look away. It invokes an emotional response whose result would produce an ocean of tears. Tears that I never shown anyone. Just to have had what that family on the screen had; to have felt a set of loving arms wrapped around me, or to have heard those three little words. It would have made all the difference in my childhood, and sometimes I ask myself. Do I express my love to my own kids?
The bond I share with my children runs deep. We share a connection that words fail to describe. I have always loved being a dad. To be allowed to shape and mold these little people is a privilege, and not one that Itake for granted. Nothing has ever compared to that first moment when I met each of my children. An intense feeling that I needed to protect them immediately set in. They changed my focus. It was no longer about my needs.It was about theirs. I live for them. Living without them would ruin me. Every thought and action I have is about them. They encompass my day and my night. They’re in my daydreams. They’re in my nightmares. They have become my everything.
I’ve done my best, as a father, to provide my kids with the tools they will need to be successful, productive members of society. But is that enough? Just like my mom, I don’t vocalize my feelings. I was never taught how. I hug them often and I do love them, but saying those words feels awkward and weird. I find it strange that I can vocalize my love for inanimate objects such as chocolate ice cream or my collection of Buddha statues, but my love for what truly matters to me escapes vocal expression. Do they know I love them?
As social beings we place a lot of emphasis on love. We yearn for that connection. And the expectation of someone, who has been told that they are loved, is to say it back. Reciprocate the feeling, (or least the words), and even if they might not love you, we don’t seem to care. Just as long as we hear it. Sincerity or honesty doesn’t seem to matter. If a profession of love is not vocalized, then anger or hurt usually ensues. As if that person has any control over when, or if, they love you. It’s not a light switch that can be turned on and off.
We feel when we’re loved and though we might not always recognize those feelings, in that moment, they’re still present. Those three little words don’t have to be spoken to be true. Love isn’t solely tied up in words or gift-wrapped with a tidy little bow. Love can be an action, a sacrifice. Sometimes love can be expressed through a nod, tear-filled eyes, or just a well-placed smile. So, is love unspoken, still love? I say YES! And though you might not realize it, or recognize the feelings, or hear the words, someone loves you. You are loved.
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