Love
By M on Tuesday 30 January 2007, 15:32 - Journal - Permalink
Not so long ago there was a comment by Patty Doherty on this blog. It concerned
itself with love - mine for my parents. This comment provoked much thinking on
my part - doubts that I'd like to try to get straight, if I can.
In the beginning, I can vaguely recall, our mother did tell us she loved us. This was when Greg and I were very small. I remember that when we first asked 'what does "marry" mean?', mum explained it along these lines: it's when you grow up and love a lady so much you want to spend the rest of your life with her. Greg and I instantly came to the same thought: when we grew up we would both marry mum!
Thereafter, I cannot remember love being mentioned very much at all. Sometime during my teens mum tried to steer me on the straight and narrow by occasionally saying 'I might love you, Mike, but sometimes I don't like you very much.' This was on occasions when she thought I'd been particularly selfish or mean, and I now see it as her way of dealing with a family that was emotionally much harder than she was. It was her way of trying to bring me to my senses, but I can remember even at the time seeing the emotional blackmail for what it was, and discounting it accordingly. At times I infuriated her by taunting, 'I know you don't mean that, mum. I know I'm your favourite.'
A few months ago, while she was still living in Queensland, Rachel called and had one of those stop-start conversations with mum, who seemed to hardly know who she was talking to. At the end of the conversation there was a pause and mum said 'I love you.' It came as quite a surprise, since mum hadn't used these words for as long as Rachel could remember, if at all. Rachel replied, 'I love you too, mum,' and told me about it soon afterwards. As she wasn't sure if mum knew who she was talking to, it was uncertain whether she meant what she said. I think we concluded that she may as well treat mum's words as literal truth.
But what about the other side of the coin? Do I love my parents? For a long time I have really questioned whether I do love them - primarily because there seems to be little evidence of it. When I look inside I don't find any warm or soft feelings at all. I don't seem to find anything much, if the truth be known. There is no conscious motivation, other than a sense of doing what is right, governing my actions towards mum and dad. When they didn't need any help I pretty well left them to their own devices, and my visits were primarily to satisfy my own requirements. When mum and dad die I expect to feel a certain sense of simplification, but I find it hard to imagine grief, heartbreak, sorrow, or anything of that ilk. We will just have to wait and see.
Perhaps this is all just introspective self-indulgence. It seems nobody really knows. But in regard to mum and dad I am reminded, somewhat incongruously, of the words of the Howard Jones song, 'What is love?':
In the beginning, I can vaguely recall, our mother did tell us she loved us. This was when Greg and I were very small. I remember that when we first asked 'what does "marry" mean?', mum explained it along these lines: it's when you grow up and love a lady so much you want to spend the rest of your life with her. Greg and I instantly came to the same thought: when we grew up we would both marry mum!
Thereafter, I cannot remember love being mentioned very much at all. Sometime during my teens mum tried to steer me on the straight and narrow by occasionally saying 'I might love you, Mike, but sometimes I don't like you very much.' This was on occasions when she thought I'd been particularly selfish or mean, and I now see it as her way of dealing with a family that was emotionally much harder than she was. It was her way of trying to bring me to my senses, but I can remember even at the time seeing the emotional blackmail for what it was, and discounting it accordingly. At times I infuriated her by taunting, 'I know you don't mean that, mum. I know I'm your favourite.'
A few months ago, while she was still living in Queensland, Rachel called and had one of those stop-start conversations with mum, who seemed to hardly know who she was talking to. At the end of the conversation there was a pause and mum said 'I love you.' It came as quite a surprise, since mum hadn't used these words for as long as Rachel could remember, if at all. Rachel replied, 'I love you too, mum,' and told me about it soon afterwards. As she wasn't sure if mum knew who she was talking to, it was uncertain whether she meant what she said. I think we concluded that she may as well treat mum's words as literal truth.
But what about the other side of the coin? Do I love my parents? For a long time I have really questioned whether I do love them - primarily because there seems to be little evidence of it. When I look inside I don't find any warm or soft feelings at all. I don't seem to find anything much, if the truth be known. There is no conscious motivation, other than a sense of doing what is right, governing my actions towards mum and dad. When they didn't need any help I pretty well left them to their own devices, and my visits were primarily to satisfy my own requirements. When mum and dad die I expect to feel a certain sense of simplification, but I find it hard to imagine grief, heartbreak, sorrow, or anything of that ilk. We will just have to wait and see.
Perhaps this is all just introspective self-indulgence. It seems nobody really knows. But in regard to mum and dad I am reminded, somewhat incongruously, of the words of the Howard Jones song, 'What is love?':
And maybe love is letting people be just what they want to be
The door always must be left unlocked
To love when circumstance may lead someone away from you
And not to spend the time just doubting
Comments
Leaving the door unlocked. Good analogy. I guess that's what I'm doing with those of my family from whom I am currently estranged, and what they're doing with me. It never occurs to me that love no longer exists between The Estranged Ones and me...just that the activities that are typical evidence of love have ceased between us for the time being.