Love Languages
April 21, 2021
Jamie came home from the SF office, and as we eased into the evening, with a gentle smile on his face, he shared that he learned about love languages that day when a colleague shared with everyone over lunch, something special to her, a tradition in their office.
He said that his love language is sharing and building experiences, and mine, my love language is service.
Instinctively I felt smaller somehow, even in his loving presence, not because of Jamie, but because I felt the gifts of his language and how it uncovered pieces of me and I felt expanded. Felt...superior to my service.
If I’m being kinder to myself, I acknowledge that our different languages are a piece of our perfect balance.
Love, in bits of service, filled up something inside of me. We aren’t supposed to admit these things, but doing laundry, making meals or cleaning up, chauffeuring Jamie to and from airport or train station, filled a place inside making me whole and proud. No one else could take him wherever he needed to go, I need it to be me, to make sure he got there safely, to squeeze out every second. Laundry...buttoning each button, hanging his shirts so they would dry straight and easy to pack. I smiled when I put his clothes in the drawer or closet.
Picking produce, I’d think of Jamie. I still think of him when I pick the oranges, and picture his hands peeling them. I imagine him eating the apple cores, lemon rinds.
Harold. Making homemade meals with colorful vegetables and berries and laying down his bowl each day... it felt so good.
These are the tools I used to cut Jamie’s hair, for five years, maybe more. I thought I was getting quite good at it, at least when he looked at himself and felt good at the end I knew it was a job well done. Jamie honed a loving patience for how long each haircut took. He propped the ipad on the tub’s faucet while I carefully measured with my fingers cutting gradually upwards, top longer than the sides. Running his hair through my fingers, guiding the scissors softly around his ears, buzzing his neckline. A love language.
Jamie offered to cut my hair. I hesitated. Regrets, seemingly small, hang heavy.
