February 14, 2019-
It’s been a rough few days- with a dear friend falling and suffering some serious injuries, another friend diagnosed with cancer and still others with chronic illnesses, not getting any better. The weather here has been rambunctious- soaking rain, a good thing in the long run, has fallen steadily for the past thirteen hours. More is on the way, followed by snow in the latter part of this weekend.
I have had much time to reflect on the nature of love, on this day of cards and chocolate. I have to look at myself, as always. I don’t hold grudges; if a person who savaged me later comes to me in need, I find a way to help meet that need. I have made terrible errors in judgement- and find it critical to make amends to the person, where possible. I don’t always feel loved, and have to then look at what I am projecting outward.
Love shows itself in a myriad ways-the bottom line being that the beloved feels the goodness of heart. Words alone are not one of those ways. Neither is merely providing a place of residence: Slavemasters, after all, provided a home of sorts, for those who were frequently brutalized. Constantly abusing another, and getting by with apologies, is NOT love.
Love is in the blood. My parents’ love for us came naturally and never receded. The same is true of my love for my late wife, and for our child. Suffice it to say, any children coming from his own marriage will find three truly loving grandparents standing behind their mother and father.
Love is in the blood. Any way I can help a suffering friend, I will. Grand gestures, though, have to be kept to a minimum. Those are the first things, upon which a hater or critic will seize, as evidence of one’s fecklessness. I’ve had that thrown in my face, more than once, and sometimes rightfully.
Love is in the blood, and thus can’t be erased easily, if at all.