If saying "I love you" is hard, try saying "thank you."
(Photo credit: TumblingRun / Hampton Patio / CC BY-ND)
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Certain types of life experience can give us a wonderful sense of the absolutely uncontrollable absurd beyond which nothing has meaning, nothing matters and all is hillarity.
Some also call it madness.
Beautiful hymn.
There. Too many words o’er a broken heart.
I am glad to hear you don’t need an exorcism. You had me worried, thinking me Satan. Love is a gift, as is becoming blameless, which sets us free to love without conditions.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOp83g-ORjg
You were my EVERYTHING…
I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!
It was my father who did all the early-days child care before work, at noon, and after work. His care was the only reason I survived. Not that he was any saint. He didn’t want the law around is all.
Growing up, my mother suffered bulimia by proxy. No breakfast, lunch dependent on whether I could wake her, and double portions red meat every dinner. Not allowed to feed myself. I weighed 88 pounds when I left my parents’ home at 18. My parents weren’t poor. We lived in Etobicoke.
Shortly before my mother died, she said “I love your brother but sometimes I don’t like him very much”. He’d broken the glasses on her face, bruised her cheekbones and given her a bloody fat lip trying to extort more money. Then she added, “But you, I like”. Not “you, I love”. She wasn’t going to lie. Even so, it was a huge compliment from my mom to say she liked me.
But despite my mother didn’t ever love me, despite she resented me throughout my childhood and went out of her way to hurt me, I always loved her. I felt sorry for her for having to bear me into this world against her will. I cared for her throughout my childhood and right up until she died. In grade school, I stayed up until the wee hours to put her to bed when she passed out from the booze. As an adult, I found a way to accept her choice to drink herself to death when all my Alanon efforts failed.
Love for a parent does not depend on how that parent treated the child. Love is visceral, pathetic, mysterious. I have no regrets at all about how I honoured my mother all the days of her life. Her life was a broken one; she had no control. So, while a thank you is out, I can still say “I love you”.
On Mother’s Day to my mom, gone to her Maker, “I love you”.