I was married to a man who told me that I said "I love you" too much. That to say it cheapened the emotion (quick aside dear reader-major red flag-just trust me on this one). This man was not my first husband.
My first husband was a sweet, loving young man who took delight in me, cared for me, a kind man who did willingly abide me and my hysterical youth, my confusion of drama for passion. He was a patient person who had a deep faith in life's goodness. Naturally, I had to get away from him. I was so young. I love you Scott.
No, the husband who insisted that one could over do "I love you" simply by stating it more than once was my second, my last husband. The one who was invited in to shatter my heart. The one who helped me grow up by being so much a child. He probably still believes that I love you's should be carefully doled out like penicillin or anti-retroviral therapy. Maybe once per relationship. Never between parent and child. That I endured with him is testament to my foolishness and my vanity as he was oh so beautiful to me. What woman in her right mind would tolerate such ridiculousness? I love you Vivek.
Recently, I started reading Cherry Menlove's blog which is very sweet and right now a bit sad as her beloved struggles with cancer. She signs off every post with "I love you." Sometimes she adds something else too like, "thank you for visiting" or "I want to wish you joy in the small things." At first, I was a bit struck by the sentiment. I wondered how she could be so sure she loved me.
Now I know that Cherry is on to something and that I had just a few little kinks left over from a failed marriage to work out.
As my son can attest, I have always been lavish with "I love you's" despite the dire warnings and asshat censorship. I am fond of kissing and clinches. But I openly loved just a small circle of people. As my heart reassembled into a new and better organ, I began to feel certain that it's well-being, it's joyful thrum was enhanced by my ability to love in a bigger, better, faster pussycat, more, more way. It is also entirely plausible that one can love the unknown and accept that the truth of love is in the pitching, not the catching.
I am grateful to Cherry for the love. And I love you.