An Osmosis Kind of Love

All the years I knew my grandparents, my grandmother woke early and prepared a warm house and meal for my grandfather as well as his lunch. It wasn’t her him-centric gestures that taught me every evening was not guaranteed. She and he chastely kissed at the threshold every morning before he left for work.kiss

It wasn’t an animal, a dog or cat, who taught me the excitement of a homecoming, even if that homecoming was faithful five days a week. My grandmother busied herself about the time my grandfather left from work for home and a quiet expectancy came over her. Before I was a big girl, she taught me to seek the sound of gravel grinding in the driveway under his truck tires and his progress through the gate and house to his living room chair. Taller grandchildren pressed their faces to the scent of sheer curtains cooling from the Southern California sun just to see Grandpa pull into home in his faithful Nissan truck.

I am getting to know a man I call husband. I realize just this moment how he already accepts what he does and does not know of me.

We don’t ‘put up with’ each other. We don’t endure silence; we don’t insist it be filled. Fears aren’t dismissed with a look away or breath sieved through firmly set teeth.

“Nothing.” “Never mind.” “Whatever.” These by mutual, unspoken agreement aren’t in our vocabulary so one or the other is not dismissed from a possible shared thought or conversation. Individual differences and our differences in need are made known, respected and, though a reminder might need to be given, adjusted to without resentment—perhaps with little frustration, but never resentment.

‘I love you’ aren’t three words said in passing. They aren’t a knee-jerk response in reply, never in a sense, “same to you.” The words are ours, shared aloud and in deed, the soul of their meaning contained so close to bursting. Full with laughter…tears…gratefulness…admiration…love, of course.

In some other post(s), I’ll show you what he shows me that is love and teaches me of our individual capacity.

©2013 Sandra Davidson

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8 responses to “An Osmosis Kind of Love

  1. A flawless gathering of words.

    My grandmother did the same and what I remember the most, is the waxpaper she wrapped her husband, my grandfather’s sandwiches in.

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