Loving Too Much

I think I love too deep.

Too much.

Too hard.

If I honestly look at my heart, I realize that I never “kind of” love someone or something. There are very few things in this world that I can take or leave. And what fits into that category are indeed things.

I can take or leave vegetables.

I can take or leave exercise.

I can take or leave fireworks shows.

When it comes to people or animals, especially animals, though, I go in with my entire heart and love incredibly deeply.

That has backfired on more than one occasion. Animals don’t hurt on purpose, but people do. I’ve never felt betrayed by an animal, yet I have often felt the stabbing of betrayal from people. There are members of my own family who no longer talk to me. They have gone so far as to say that I am dead to them. The betrayal has taken its toll.

I have always been a very sensitive person. Even as a child, seeing an animal hit and laying on the side of the road brought instant tears. Raccoons, deer, squirrels, cats, birds–it didn’t matter. The thought of the deceased animal and the suffering it may have endured as it died started a chain of emotions that always resulted in a breakdown of tears. That sensitivity never went away. Earlier this year as I was on my way to help with middle school youth group, I passed a turkey that had been hit on a busy road. Another turkey, I assume its mate, was just standing next to it, looking at it as if to say, “Why aren’t you following me?”. The tears came instantly (and are again as I relive that experience). I went into the kitchen area of the youth group room and just cried. My daughter-in-law and son followed me in. I was a mess of tears and embarrassed. I often get angry at God for making me the way he did.

This morning, as I lay awake (wishing I would not have awakened once again) I decided that loving has resulted in tremendous hurt over the years. Because I love and feel so deeply, it cuts deeply when that love is rejected or the relationship changes. Eighteen months ago, I held a little peanut in my arms in a hospital in Fargo. My baby girl had given birth to a beautiful baby boy. Our first grandchild. My arms were full for the first time in many years and I couldn’t get enough of him. Over these last eighteen months, I have spent a great deal of time with this precious boy. I love him deeply. Perhaps too deeply, for now that he is moving away, the deep wound is causing pain that is way too much to bear. Added to that pain is the reality that his mommy, once my baby girl, will also be gone–my best friend.

Once again I find myself angry at God for creating me to love so deeply and for taking people away from me–people who I love so very, very much. I have been criticized for saying I hate life. I don’t care. I hate that life has to change and hurt so much so often. I hate that the loneliness of an empty nest will only intensify with them moving. I hate that my arms are going to ache to hold my precious grandson and he won’t be here to ease that ache. I hate that next Thursday they won’t be coming to do laundry as they have nearly every Thursday for over a year. I hate that I have to continue living when life is so damn painful. And I hate that I don’t know how to move forward with a life that has no real purpose.

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About becmom45

Wife of one, mom of four, mom-in-law to two, grammy to one precious little boy; lover of snow, autumn, pumpkins, cats, books, baking, Charles Wysocki puzzles, Christmas; honest, raw author who hopes what is written here enlightens and educates those fortunate enough to not understand the demons chronicled.
This entry was posted in Children, death, depression, empty nest, Grandma, Grandson, loneliness, moving, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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