“What is love? How would you answer that?” I asked my husband on Saturday night at 8:43 PM after he’d watch a great storm roll in from the front porch with our dog while the cat was hiding.
I’d no idea where the cat was but she had a mouse trapped earlier, I knew she was around. We had tried to rescue the mouse with a towel to take it outside. I thought we’d succeeded. But the mouse died of a heart attack. Todd buried it.
“Love is not jealousy, blah blah blah,” Todd said.
He can be a little sardonic. He was right. I wanted to ask what he thought love was not. I’d written a poem for him. I wanted to read it. Aloud. So I tried.
“Love is not food…”
“Yes it is.” Oh give me a chance here. Reading my work rarely works. Why do I try?
“Never mind,” I said. “You’re not a poet.”
“Yes I am.” He said then. “Haven’t you seen my feet?”
Oh, Todd. That was one of his father’s jokes. That’s enough. I read it to myself one more time.
Love is not food or wine or sleep. It is not a lifeboat in waters too deep. It is not an injection to cure.
Love will not heal a gaping wound or mend a broken limb.
And what when grief’s too great, when despair steals breath,
When hunger, thirst or sleepless angst cause us to forsake the memory of our love, our soul’s rest?
Would I forsake it then? I suppose I could. But my beloved, be still. I don’t think I ever would.
He buried the mouse. I mean, what we have? This is love.
I did finally read my poem to Todd this morning after I had accidentally knocked him in the head with my elbow in bed. He came down the stairs with an ace bandage wrapped around his head.
“I wouldn’t post that,” he said.
“Why not?” It’s a lousy poem.
“It’s our life, nobody cares. Nobody else posts stuff like that.”
But this is love. Who doesn’t care about that? And you answered my question.
Love shows itself in a lot of ways doesn’t it. the “Evidence” of love is a good thing Deb
Hi Deb, Loved the post. The poem wasn’t lousy and the elbow, well maybe it’s better if we leave that in the unchallenged area. “What is Love?” is not an easy question to answer but we can easily recognize it when it is. It’s the “it is” that is variable, because it rings true to the heart and the heart responds with recognition. Ditto to Gary’s comment. Your hubby is my kind of guy and the basis for that remark is you have to remember what you’re working with! And yes indeed, love covers a multitude of sins! Blessings!
Real love is deep and lasting. No, it isn’t usually as exciting as fireworks, but fireworks only last a few moments, and they’re gone. #married49years
Annie, Yes, and love keeps you young! You must have been married at ten! ❤️❤️
Bruce, I love your words here. You know something? I would never tire of writing about love. Blessings back!
Gary, Yes. Look for the evidence. It’s a good road map. 😉
Here’s what your thought-provoking poem brought to my mind: Love is enfolding someone in your arms when the wound gapes or the limb breaks. Love is saying “I’m so sorry” and “I can only imagine what you’re going through” and meaning it. Love is remaining devoted when desertion (even just to another room) would be easier. Love is determining you would never leave, even though you could.
Nancy, just when I thought everyone was thinking my lousy poem was rather trite and superficial, here you come like a wind, with words more beautiful than I wrote but grasping the emotion in which it was penned. It brings tears. God hears. Thank you.
Oh my goodness–tears?! Our hearts must be tuned to the same pitch, Deb!