Love, defined
-By Mike Moore-
The instructions are as simple and they are arduous.
Legs back, a deep breath, chin down, and, push — push, baby, like you’ve never pushed before.
Imagine a pain so real, no amount of words, colored and decorated with as many adjectives one could imagine, would ever do it justice.
Imagine a pain so intense, an unforgiving needle, shot into the spine serves as a method of soothing.
Now imagine the culprit of this pain right in front of you, oblivious and imprudent to any infliction caused. Content with the world around, ignorant to the blood, sweat and tears poured out just moments ago.
Now, imagine embracing this person, squeezing as if never to let go. A kiss. Maybe a hug, and now more tears. Sure, the pain persists, pulsing, vibrating pain, but these are tears from a different maker, born from a much stronger emotion. Stretched, torn and exhausted, this is the exact instant you’ve dreamed of and planned for.
Pain be damned, in this moment happiness reigns.
Life has a strange way of taking what we know, turning it upside down, and presenting us with what we had no clue of.
I used to know exactly what love was. Love was something you felt. Love was something you said. It was a gift, a vow, a certain act.
I knew this … with all my heart.
But, now, I know exactly what love is.
Love is pain. Love is sacrifice. Love is offering your very being for someone else, someone you don’t know, someone you’ve never met, talked to, or even seen, someone, who in all likelihood, will never fully understand exactly what it is you’ve done on their behalf.
Love is surrendering your body. Love is enduring the aches, pains and discomfort. Love is heartburn — boy, is it heartburn. Love is hunger with no room for food. Love is pants that won’t fit and shirts that won’t stretch. Love is test after test, appointment after appointment.
Love comes without caffeine. Love allows no booze. Love is morning sickness. Love is sleepless nights. Love comes with a push — push, baby, like you’ve never pushed before. Love is that longing for pain. Love is the desire to meet the culprit.
Life has a strange way of taking who we know, presenting them in a different light, a different situation, and reeducating.
Love is strength. Love is a will that won’t back down. Love is, a push, a breath, chin down, and another push. Love is stretched, torn and exhausted. Love is bleeding, screaming, crying. Love is a fist, strong enough to squeeze oil from a bed handle. Love is a line on a beeping monitor, rising to a point, a breath and one final push.
Love is that cry you’ve been dying to hear. Love is that sight you’ve been longing to see. Love is that meeting you’ve been yearning for months, that hug, maybe that kiss. Love is those tears.
I knew exactly who my wife was before we walked into that room. I knew she was proud. I knew she was strong. I new she was determined. But in those hours of pain, those hours of pushing, those hours of love, I met my wife all over again, for the very first time.
Life has a strange way of taking what we feel, turning it inside out, and gift-wrapping it before us without any need for a thank you.
Love is a memory, carved into our minds never to disappear. Love is pride. Love is a hug, a kiss on the cheek and a simple “thank you.” Love is a step back, a glance, a moment of awe. Love is considering everything you’ve just witnessed, all that the person before you has endured, only to smile, seemingly forgetting every excruciating second, thanks to what is held in her arms.
Love is a promise. Love is in an alarm clock. Love is uncomfortable feedings. Love is recovery. Love is stitches. Love is diapers. Love is stained shoulders, spit, crying, a rocking chair.
Life has a strange way of taking time, laughing out loud, and hitting fast forward.
Love is bigger diapers. Love is bigger clothes. Love is money, shrinking by the hour, while one grows by the second. Love is a new routine, as soon as the previous is figured out. Love is teething. Love is bottles. Love, quite simply, is growing up.
Love is knowing helplessness lasts for only a short time. Love is knowing steps will be taken, words will be said. Love understands maturity. Love understands separation. Love won’t always be cool. Love will sometimes be annoying, maybe even unwelcome. Love is trusting you’ve done all you can. Love is, somehow, someway, someday, letting go.
