The many faces of love

I’ve been thinking about the many faces of love lately.

When I first held my nephew seven and one-half years ago, I was overcome by the depth of my feelings for him. Here was a tiny infant, just born. I had no idea what he was going to be like, whether it would end up that we had anything in common, or what sorts of things he’d enjoy. And, to be truthful, I hadn’t really been looking forward to his birth. I knew it was going to change everything. And I didn’t want things to change.

But all that didn’t matter when I held him for that first time. I discovered something profound. I loved him deeply. To the core of my being. It was a love that didn’t need to develop over time, based on anything that he did. It just was.

When my daughter was born, I expected that same feeling to occur when I held her the first time. But it didn’t. At first I wondered if I didn’t love her as much. Then I realized I wouldn’t experience such deep emotion the first time I held her because I had loved her all along. Nothing changed in that instant she passed between my belly to my arms. My love for her had been fostered over nine months. I loved her the moment I found out about her, and my feelings grew as she did.

She was a baby I had planned for. I had already sacrificed for her, giving up sleep, favorite foods and comfort. I had dreamed about what she would look like and who she would grow up to be. I had been waiting for the day of her birth. It was just a step for me, one simple step in the lifetime that will follow.

My love for her just is. And it will never change.