I believe in love

A repost from February 2022

Note: It’s not that I didn’t want to write a new essay this week, but this one tugged at the back of my brain and practically insisted on being reposted. So here it is again: I believe in love. Because I do. Happy Valentine’s Day to you from me. xo

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I wasn’t looking forward to February this year. As much of a believer in love as I am, I have to say, it’s been difficult to recognize its presence. February, despite it being the month for my birthday and the literal day of love, loomed with gloom. Annie’s bilateral mastectomy occupied a square on that particular calendar page along with the anniversary of my dad’s death, my birthday wedged in between. What’s to love about all that? Love, in its more pink and flowery version has been absent; vigilance has replaced it and has used up all the time and energy for the celebration of love. I didn’t think I’d ever feel differently than I had for the last few months. The space inside me where love grows has been crowded with fear and frustration. Love has been shunted aside for the more crucial feeling of, for me, hopelessness. Why should I feel any differently?

But I should have known better, shouldn’t I have?

Once the surgeon called to let us know Annie’s operation was over, I began to feel a lightening of the paralysis in my chest. Obviously I had been holding my breath since January’s announcement of the surgery. A week later, we gathered at Annie’s home to observe my birthday and it turned out to be one of the most enjoyable celebrations I think I ever had—at least in the top ten. Annie—nine days post-op—had even managed to order a couple of presents for me, one of which was a book that had languished on a wish list from last Christmas. (Clever girl, digging that list up!) I had added the book All About Love after reading of author bell hooks’ death. I was surprised I wasn’t familiar with her before and out of all the books she had written, this one seemed like a good one to start with. But I didn’t get it for Christmas. Love made a gentle appearance in the form of a gift. Although I didn’t start reading it right away (because reader’s block) I placed it on my nightstand--you can’t ignore love when it nudges you from the cover of a book.

On Valentine’s Day, I resigned from my position on our town’s Board of Education, due to the growing urge to devote time and attention to my family’s needs. Thoughts of my Dad swirled in my brain that night—he had been so proud of my winning a seat on the board. Angelo would set up his iPad so he could stream every meeting and he rarely missed one. Around Valentine’s Day last year was when we realized my dad was nearing his death. After an extremely restless and agitated night we called my brother Richard to let him know he should come to Connecticut. Arriving the next day from California, he had made it, spending time with dad until he died 24 hours later. The anticipation of that particular anniversary felt like something akin to dread, but laced with sadness and loss. I was plunged back into melancholy. Some day of love.

That night, I picked up my new book, almost begrudgingly. I only flipped through it, glancing at chapter titles and the quotes. In the preface, one line caught my attention: “But it was love’s absence that let me know how much love mattered.” Which made me realize something very important--it only felt like love was absent--for me. In reality, love had been present all the time. I thought of the years of stress and months of fear that have tested me; stress doesn’t come and go, but runs like a low grade fever in the background, impacting behavior, actions, energy. Love works that way, too. Love, in the form of messages from friends and the support of my family, is what kept me from full-blown delirium, succumbing to malaise or inertia. Love, in the form of my children and grandchildren, distant and near, are the literal embodiments of love that I can see, hear and touch. Love showed up as flowers and birthday gifts and valentines. Love IS all around, dammit. I recalled the night Dad died; with Angelo close, Richard and I sat on either side of Dad’s bed, my hand over his heart. We told him over and over how much we loved him and we let him know that even though others in the family weren’t here, their love was. There was love in the room.

February isn’t over yet...there will be more snow, additional stress and other challenges. And then the rest of the year to come. Annie--and all of us--have a long road ahead, so hopefully, I won’t forget again how much love I have in my life. I think I might sound a little bit like Dorothy Gale, right? “It’s been here all along.” And it’s true--I’ve had love in my life since I was born. It’s looked different over the years and it has definitely felt different, but there was always love.

And all I have to do is remember that.