Nothing to See Here…

Christopher was my nephew.  Just a handful of weeks ago, in late January, Christopher committed suicide.  And just last night, my oldest daughter came over for a visit.  Those two things may seem unrelated but stay with me for a minute.

After Katie left, I thought to myself Christopher has left me something precious in the wake of his death.  I have no way of thanking him, so instead I’ll share this particular legacy of Christopher (one of many, I’m certain) with you.

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Katie was given to me when I was a mere 18 years old.  I didn’t know much, not nearly as much as I thought I knew, but I was clear on one thing:  I loved my baby with every fiber of my being.  The feeling was so overwhelming, emotion more powerful than I had ever felt in my 18 years.  Maybe it was compounded by the intensity of being a teenager, I don’t know.  All I know is that it was so strong, the love, that it would make me physically ache if I would dwell upon it for too long.

In those first months and even first years of raising my daughter, I would recall many aspects of my own upbringing and promise myself, as many new mothers do, that it would be different in the family I led.  Don’t get me wrong, I had a wonderful upbringing.  My parents (together still) were actively involved in our lives, took us on vacations, coached our teams, cheered at our games, made our Halloween costumes.  We adored our grandparents and generally had a worry-free existence.  I was a lucky kid - I had a great childhood.

But we didn’t ever say the words ‘I love you’ to each other.  My parents weren’t demonstratively affectionate, either with each other or with us kids.  While I believe there was physical affection in the form of hugs and kisses when we were little, it was no more than faded memory as I grew older.  We loved each other, yes.  We all knew there was love - love was communicated in actions every single day.  But not in words and not in hugs and kisses.

I vowed it would be different for me with my children.  I even had a strategy back then, when I was 18.  I knew that as long as I hugged and kissed my child and said ‘I love you’ every single day, it would never be awkward - it would just be normal.  This was my plan - every day hugs and kisses, and a household where ‘I love you’ was uttered without effort or embarrassment.  So back then, back in 1983, I began carrying out this plan.  I clearly remember the moment it commenced, in that first roach-infested apartment where the only thing beautiful was my baby girl’s little room.  And so it had begun.  It went on for years.  I folded Katie’s sister, Amber, into this plan in 1985.  It was easy.

Somewhere along the way, however, I lost the path.  Maybe I missed a day saying ‘I love you’.  Maybe my girls told me they were too old for goodnight kisses.  Maybe there were days, hard days brimming with teenage attitude, where I just really didn’t feel like I could utter loving words and pass out hugs and kisses when I just wasn’t feeling the matching emotions on the inside.  Maybe we pulled away from each other during those years.

However it happened, what I do know is we turned into the family of my youth.  Loving, caring, sharing our love in the silent actions of french-braiding hair or baking cookies or doing favors.  This continued over time and the only exceptions to the routine were found in the Big Goodbyes and the Big Hellos.  A hug and and ‘I love you’ would accompany leaving on trips or dropping someone off at college or coming together after a long absence.  My girls were grown and we loved each other, but it was, for the most part, unspoken.

I was prepared to accept that as enough, but deep in my heart I knew that I was a failure to that 18-year-old version of myself, that optimistic, naive girl who set out on this path with a promise, a vow, and with no intention of ever faltering.  Who could have predicted that the older, more secure, wiser, more confident Linda would be the sell-out?  But there you have it.  I was a little ashamed, I didn’t share my uncomfortable secret with anyone.

That is how it’s been for the last several years.  Until January 2006.  Until the phone call when we learned about Christopher.  Until my daughter found her courage and, in turn, shared it with me.

Christopher, the loss of him, the lesson about the preciousness of life and relationships with those we love, inspired Katie to put me - to put US - back on that path I had chosen so many years before.  In the wake of him losing his path, we have once again found ours.

Thank you, Christopher.