Always love

I have written about love in every form, shape, and even length. And I can't stop. It's so complex and yet so simple, so frustrating and yet so beautiful. And every time, or at least most of it, I use my parents' example. Maybe because on the surface their relationship didn't look like a loving one. But now that my siblings and I are older, and after dad passed away, my siblings and I are discovering that there are so many stories and so many tales that speak about the love between dad and mom - all of them hidden in my mom's heart and in time. Only now that she feels alone after dad is gone, she is sharing them. Maybe because it makes her feel better or because it is her way to remember. And in one way or the other, I am glad for that. 

I'm learning about how love can evolve, how it can be created, and how it doesn't necessarily imply romantic gestures all the time, or gifts, or sweet words. Sometimes, it's simply unspoken, unseen, and yet, it is there. 

My dad was a very silent and stern man. He didn't meet my grandfather until he was seventeen so he never knew the love of a father - this, took me a long long time to understand. I always thought he didn't care. He did but only in the way he knew how. He was a man of actions. To him, giving us a home, enough food, and education was love. To my mom, giving her a home, giving her enough resources to live comfortably was also his way to show love. He wouldn't organize romantic dinners, send flowers or chocolates. He wouldn't even say sweet words. He stayed at home, went to visit my uncles on Sundays, and then went to work on weekdays and come back around ten o'clock with mom. 

Sometimes he would joke with us. He liked to be a clown, or at least, make fun of mom at her expense when we were all together. He disliked it a lot when my siblings and I would go to our friends' houses. He preferred us to stay in the house. He disliked misbehaving. In overall, he was a good dad - as good as he could be, to the best of his capabilities. A lot of times, I used to think he didn't love us, or mom. They would argue quite often. For stupid things or bigger ones: work, education, us, etc. He was a stubborn man, and sometimes even resentful. But in spite of it all, things would fall into place on the next day or about then. 

Because my siblings and I would sometimes see both mom and dad cry after or during their arguments, we used to ask them to get a divorce. They would even mention it once or twice during heated moments and yet, they never did. What we didn't know is that even though they would argue, even though they would say hurtful words, they still loved each other. In their incomprehensible and awkward way - according to us - but they did. 

When mom was traveling, or when mom went away for business, dad would sit at night next to the phone to wait for mom's call. Mom would not feel comfortable until she talked to him at night. My siblings and I didn't notice this until mom actually went to Disney with my siblings and dad decided to stay at home for that trip. That was the first time they had been apart for so long. That trip lasted ten days and I was fifteen years old. 

After that, more travles were required for business. Mom or dad would go to Asia for one or two months. During that time, the nightly routine would be the same. Mom or dad would call home and the other would be waiting for that call at the other side of the world. 

When dad got sick (before and after the cancer), he would refuse any type of treatment or help if my mom wasn't next to him or it wasn't her who was tending him. Even when he was in intensive care at the clinic, he pleaded with the doctors and nurses to have my mom in the room. He wouldn't feel happy or comfortable if she wasn't there. 

Now that my dad is gone, my mom feels lonely. Lonely because her partner is gone. The man that spent over twenty years with her 24/7. The man with whom she formed a family; the man with whom she built a business. The man who didn't speak much but was there with her almost all the time, that man is not here anymore. And it hurts her. 

I look behind. At how they behaved with each other, how they treated each other. I listen. To the untold stories and memories that are borne out of loneliness and nostalgia. There wasn't a second honeymoon, there weren't diamond rings, or even one single flower. But they loved each other, and now that one side is gone, the other is suffering and yet still plowing through because a promise was made. 

My parents' relationship wasn't perfect but I wish I can have that much love in the future - a simple and yet a very deep and significant one.