love

What is love?

I think I have wondered about the answer to this question my whole life, starting when I was about 6 years old, thinking about the love of my parents, as they contemplate divorce, and the love of God, as I started going to church.

Right now, I sit, writing in a field surrounded by blossoming plum trees, and I am thinking about love…and thinking about heading to Canada tomorrow to meet my new niece or nephew. At this moment little baby k is in the process of squeezing him or herself out into this big, wide world, with my brother’s strong, capable hands waiting. Lots of love is in this baby’s future.

Is the definition of ‘love’ dependant on each, individual person? Do we define ‘love’ for ourselves? And is the key making sure that you show or tell those you love how you define it? It seems to me that every parent, every lover, every friend loves differently. Right?

So, today, I am going to try and define my love, for my love, as:

-when you whistle or sing (dat, da, dat, da) along to songs on the radio, just because it makes me laugh so hard tears stream down my face.

-hearing, ‘Hunny, bunny, was macht’s du?’ about 100 times a day, even if the question is coming from outside of the bathroom door.

-not smothering you with a pillow, when I’m so tired and can’t sleep because you’re snoring SO loud.

-saying ‘I’m sorry’ and truly meaning it.

-seeing your interest in everything that I write.

-hiking above Waterton, and you pointing out ‘Charlie’s motel’ every time we could see it through the trees…while using the walking stick you ripped off of a tree for me.

-forcing me to drive your car, because you know that it will be good for me to have some ‘wheels’.

-seeing you laugh hysterically whenever we play in the pool.

-buying a ring for me because you know I love it, even though you liked the other one better.

-sitting on a secluded beach, talking about good ideas for the future…babies, puppies, boats and chickens? (not particularly in that order).

-knowing that you are trying so hard to make me feel comfortable and happy in your life here.

-ironing your shirts, even though I truly hate ironing.

-having the ugly, difficult, tear-filled conversations, but never saying, ‘I’m done’.

-wanting, more than anything, to see you laughing and happy and feeling great…with your arms around me.

Is this love? Can it be this simple? Or am I missing something?