It’s February and hearts are popping up everywhere. You can’t go to the grocery store or watch TV without a constant reminder that this is the month dedicated to love (read as buying heart shaped stuff. Heart-shaped Cheerios anayone? )
And what if you have no one to shower with heart-shaped gifts? Spend it on yourself, some will say. Self love and all that jazz. But there’s only so much self love you can indulge in before you sock someone who recommends it as a cure-all for anything that ails you.
My children, who I have loved and cared for all these years are now leaving the nest one by one. Over the years I’ve often imagined this time in my life. I couldn’t cope with them going to school full time, so I’m going to have a hard time not seeing my munchkins every day. I wonder if I will ever find love again. The kind that makes my soul sing. Like the love Abba and Dadima shared. A few decades with him gave her all the strength she needed to live till 80. Or the love that made Shane West marry Mandy Moore in “A Walk to Remember,” knowing fully well that her days were numbered. They spent one glorious summer together as man and wife before she succumbed to cancer.
And of course the love that Adrian Monk and Trudy share in the epynomous detective series, Monk which is one of my all-time favorite TV shows. An an ex-cop with OCD struggles to solve the biggest case of his entire career. Trudy, the love of his life, is tragically killed by a car bomb and Monk has a hard time letting go. He becomes a shell of his former self, is stripped of his police license, and can’t move past Trudy’s death. On particularly difficult days, Monk takes out Trudy’s pillow which he keeps in a zipped, plastic bag. It still smells of her and is somehow a portal to her. Her visitations give him comfort and the answers he’s looking for.
Monk never dates and never can replace Trudy—the very thought repulses him. It’s tragic and beautiful at the same time. If one can savor that kind of love even for a day I think it’s safe to say that it can carry you through lifetimes of misery and pain. Such is the power of love.
Maybe I’ve known this kind of love in some lifetime because I recognize it when I see it. It’s a silent adoration, a deep knowing, complete surrender which is pure and divine. It leaves everyone and everything that comes in contact with it better. Like stardust and sparkles, it leaves a sheen on everything it touches. Those of you who know, know. The rest of you are probably scractching your heads wondering what the hell I’m talking about. It walks amidst us waiting to be discovered. To be touched, to blossom, to erupt into a million peals of laughter, an ocean of joy, only to slip back into that quiet space that feels like a warm hug or being home at last.
May we all know this kind of love and may we all be this kind of love!
Punctuate Life 