PS I Love You (no, really I do)

I love you. Three little words.

I have a bit of a love hate relationship with those three little words. And it’s not because I don’t like them or I never use them. Let me explain.

When I was growing up in the ‘50s and ‘60s, in a very close knit, nurturing family, I’m sure we all loved each other, and we knew we were loved, but, as I recall, the sentiment was very rarely verbalised. Certainly, my brothers and I would never have expressed such a feeling to each other, and even now I think I’ve only ever said it to them in jest, and they’ve done the same to me.

Mum and dad obviously loved each other. It showed in the way they spoke to each other, laughed, joked and bickered, and the way dad would put his arm around mum or place his hand on hers when sitting together. Not long before my dad died mum told me that every time she passed dad on her way out of the room he would grab her hand and give it a little squeeze. There was no doubt that was all part of their love language.

As for us children, we had hugs, kisses and cuddles galore from our mum, and only less from dad because he wasn’t always there first thing in the morning and when we went to bed. He worked long hours to provide for us, there’s love in that too. We didn’t need to question the love between us all. It was just there, an invisible, all enveloping cloud of safety and well being. Those three little words didn’t really need to be said. My generation and those before me very rarely verbalised that feeling.

My husband was the first person to actually tell me he loved me. I think I might have laughed - we were three weeks into a fledgling relationship and I certainly didn’t reciprocate. That came later and I guess we must both have been sincere because we’re still together fifty two years later.

We married and had babies. We told them often that we loved them. They grew up hearing those words and no doubt becoming immune to them, but that didn’t stop us, and like the little sponges they were, they began repeating those three little words back to us. The babies became teenagers, then adults and began to pronounce their love for people far more important at that time than their parents. We never stopped loving each other, it just wasn’t articulated so often.

I gained a son in law, two daughters in law and an ex of each too. I loved them all and they seemed to love me but the ‘I love yous’ were used sparingly. The girls, including my daughter were much more likely to tell each other, than were the males.

So where does this love hate relationship come from?

I think it started a few years ago with the use of the word, ‘hun.’ A word that, try as I might, I could not find rolling off my tongue. I knew it was a form of affection but it just didn’t sit right with me. I cringed as I heard it or saw it in print. I was nobody’s hun and nobody was mine. I was more of a ‘sweetheart/darling/matey’ kind of friend. And I’m sure that made others cringe too.

So... When the ‘I love yous’ started flying around it had a similar effect. They didn’t love me, I didn’t love them. It was just empty words to fill a gap. And those empty words were hugely overused. To me, of the boomer generation, the ‘I love yous,’ were reserved for our partners and our children, and mainly in private.

However, over time I’ve come to accept that I’m going to hear those words wherever I go, not necessarily directed at me but between teenage girls, young mothers, mums and grandmas with their children and babies. It’s what people say. Maybe it’s not always strictly true. Who am I to judge? It does no harm. I find myself articulating it to family members much more frequently these days. I love the grandchildren’s parroted responses. It gives me comfort.

I only ever told my dad I loved him once in his life. It was after a silly argument, a week before he died. I was leaving the house to return to Blackpool when I felt compelled to go back in, give him a hug and tell him I loved him. It was the last time I saw him. These days, on my way to bed, I often give his ashes a little kiss and tell him I love him. Somehow it’s easier when he can’t see me or answer back.

I have a friend who always signs off her messages, ‘Keep sprinkling that love.’ I like that. It’s an instruction, not a declaration.

I can do that.

Mixed Messages

Once, on MSN
Remember that?
Chatting to a man
About an IT problem
When my daughter popped up
All the way from the USA
I had two conversations on the go
IT man trying arrange a visit
Daughter telling me of her adventures
I thought I was an expert in multi tasking
I congratulated myself
On slipping seamlessly between messages

That was
Until I arranged for daughter to visit
next week at 3pm
And told IT man ‘I love you.’

Thanks for reading, Jill.