Does love have an upper limit? Or does it disregard math and science, and instead chooses to gush unabashedly from the heart?
I know, it’s a rhetorical question, but when I think about the love my mother holds for me, I have to ask it. I feel blessed to be drenched in the love she bestows upon me. I talk to her almost every day (she lives in India) and I can sense the affection she has for me just through the tone of her voice when she picks up the phone and asks how I’m doing.
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2022 was a hard year for me. My parents got Covid and my father, who has Alzheimer’s, got pneumonia while in the ICU. I was in India for a couple of months helping them, while going through a divorce at home in Portland.
When I was talking to my mother on the last day of 2022, she said these words which I’ll never forget: “May all your sufferings and sorrows come to me instead, my dearest. May you be blessed with love and peace.”
I was on a walk in the desert when she said that. I had to stop walking. My hands were quivering, eyes wet. How could anyone harbor so much love? How can her heart be so expansive? She’s already overburdened with being my father’s caregiver and now she wants to take on her son’s challenges?
I’m not a parent (yet), so I don’t know what it feels like to empathize with your children and hold them with love and care. Maybe mothers, especially, have a strong bond with their children and think of them as parts of their own selves. I don’t know.
All I know is that I feel grateful and blessed to have her love, support, and care all my life, right from the moment I was born, till now. It wasn’t ‘spoilt’ love — I wasn’t overindulged or treated like the most precious diamond in the world. The love I received (from both my parents) was practical, deep, and unconditional. It was/is the foundation upon which I built my life.
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I was visiting my parents in India last summer and my mother came to the airport to drop me off (my father couldn’t come as he was still recovering from covid and pneumonia). I had checked in the bags and was standing on one side of a fence while she stood on the other. We held hands over the fence. I remember the touch of her hands and the love that flowed from them to mine. It was a soft stream that kept flowing long after I had said bye to her and boarded the plane. And it’s a stream that’s still gushing every time I speak with her on the phone.
I love you, my mother. Thank you for your blessings and for bringing me into this world.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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You may also like these posts on The Good Men Project:
White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism | Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box | The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer | What We Talk About When We Talk About Men |
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Photo credit: Nathan Anderson on Unspalsh
It’s amazing to see the love between a mother and her child, and it’s inspiring to witness how strong that bond can be. No amount of math or science can quantify the amount of love we feel for each other, and that’s what makes it so special.
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