Gregory E. Lang's Blog, page 16
February 28, 2025
Why I Love You (original introduction, 2005)
One of life’s great experiences is falling in love so deeply one cannot imagine ever being without the other. Whether a first love, a new love, or a rekindled love, we universally experience the wonderful feelings that come when we find that special person – the intense feelings of attachment, the euphoric passion, the promise of a happy future together. Some of us find one true love and keep that partner for a lifetime. Others have love that eventually fades, but remain ever hopeful of finding a new and longer-lasting love one day. Some have not yet fallen in love and are searching for the person that will fulfill their romantic dreams. No matter where we are in our lives or what else may occupy our time, we all wish to have someone to love, someone who will love us in return.
When it comes to falling in love there are, I think, two kinds of people. The first is one who has a well-laid plan by which they seek a partner that possesses certain preferred qualities and characteristics. Upon finding such a person, they pursue a cautious and measured courtship, waiting for signs of reassurance before giving in to feelings of attachment, never taking too much risk, slowly and incrementally revealing more about themselves, until a respectable time has passed and a sense of comfort has been attained, before ever coming near uttering those three powerful words, “I love you.”
The second kind has no such plan or patience for caution. They will think nothing of the risk being taken when investing in someone, nor will they bother to proceed carefully, but will choose instead to reveal everything about themselves to whoever wishes to know them. These are the people who believe in serendipity, who trust their feelings and are led by their heart, who are on a relentless quest to find, earn, and keep love in their lives. These are the people who do not tiptoe into love, but instead know only to dive in, head first, with abandon. I am one of these people.
Exhilarated by the dive, I like it when my heart pounds so fast and strong that I can feel it in my chest and hear it in my ears. I enjoy the hope that swells inside, and I look forward to discovering what promise the relationship may hold. I don’t stop to think about what I am doing, but instead choose to feel my way along, not knowing if it will last but trusting to gain something worthwhile from the experience, giving of myself what I can and hoping for my affections to be returned. Sometimes I have been rewarded, and other times not. Sometimes I have been disappointed and hurt. Sometimes, regrettably, I have done the disappointing and hurting. Yet, through it all, I have continued to approach relationships in the same way, head first, without hesitation, hoping each time to find the relationship from which a lasting love would grow.
I have been in love more than once. Although at times I have been heartbroken, I have few regrets about these failed relationships because each of them, from high school infatuations to relationships of my adulthood, has fulfilled a special need in my life at the time, helping me to discover more about myself and improving my understanding of intimacy and commitment. For me, each relationship has been another step in the journey to a more meaningful capacity to truly love someone. I have learned much along the way.
I have learned that love is like a diamond, hard and durable, yet if handled carelessly, can cleave into worthless fragments. A relationship must be cared for and nourished if it is to remain whole. Care and nourishment may take many forms, like sending love letters, bringing home flowers, or planning romantic evenings together. Care and nourishment can also be simple, like speaking from one’s heart and telling the other of the love that is inspired within you. I have learned that love involves risk, and it is only after taking risk and finding that no harm will come that a deeper love can grow. I have learned that love involves work. It brings with it challenges and compromises, and it sometimes brings tears, but with the desire to carry out one’s commitment with passion and persistence, it is work worth doing and even more love is the reward. Above all, I think the most valuable lesson I have learned is that love cannot go unexpressed. Signs of love must be demonstrated and words of love must be spoken if love is to continuously flow with vigor. It is this lesson that has brought me to write this book.
Recently and unexpectedly, a great and wonderful blessing has visited upon me, and the next time—the last time—has come. I have met a woman, a woman who reminds me each day why I enjoy being in love, a woman who is teaching me more about loving than I have ever known. She gives me acceptance, kindness, and grace that compel me to better myself for her enjoyment. She pleases all my senses, stimulates my mind and passions, and encourages my ever-increasing hunger for her company. She lets me love her the way I want to and welcomes all that I have to give her. She tirelessly shows her love and enthusiasm for me. I have told her of my many weaknesses and trespasses, and she has not retreated from me. I have revealed to her my fears, and she has comforted me. I do not know how I became so fortunate, but I know I am.
It is because of this woman that I, for the first time, now question myself and my past relationships, worrying that the way in which I have conducted myself leaves me suspect when I tell her how I feel about her. What if I cannot adequately express to her what she has come to mean to me or why she is different from those I have known before her? I worry that I cannot say something original to her, or do something for the first time with her, that I will be unable to make it clear to her and to others that this time, it is different. Out of this worry comes a determination and resolve to do the only thing I know how to do, but to do it better than ever before, and that is to just dive in. So it is with this book that I fearlessly walk to the edge and declare to her that I want to be with her—now and always. When I first place it in her hands, it will be with this book that I tell her, “I love you, and I want to tell you why.”
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Why a Son Needs a Mom (original introduction, 2004)
On my mantelpiece rests an aging photograph of my mother that was taken as she was about to graduate from high school, a few short years before she chose to alter her life and become a mother. She was beautiful then, with hair that fell upon her shoulders, big eyes that reassured, and a smile that warmed. I am told she was energetic, vivacious, and popular back then, when she was young and had only herself to be concerned about. This photograph is my favorite picture of my mother, and although it has yellowed and faded, it has been lovingly displayed wherever I have lived, and serves to remind me of the nest from which I flew, the home my mother kept for my four siblings and me and the bosom to which I always return, one of unconditional love and acceptance.
My memories of childhood include the many things my mother did to make sure my siblings and I were well cared for and happy. Every day began with a hot breakfast, often including biscuits made from scratch, lunchboxes were filled with what we each liked to eat, and dinner always included someone’s favorite food. With a family so large, cooking consumed much of her time. My passion for cooking and belief that it is a sincere gesture of love can be traced back to my mother and the way she never failed to bake a birthday cake of choice, bring soup to the child sick in bed, alter recipes to suit our tastes, and make the house smell like the approaching season or holiday. But our mother did far more than cook for us to let us know she loved us.
She made clothes for us, tended to our scrapes and cuts, drove us to our respective after school activities and cheered for us, sought out obscure but coveted gifts for Christmas, helped with difficult homework assignments, wiped tears away and endured tantrums, all the while making sure not a child was overlooked, doing or giving whatever each needed, as though she had nothing more important to do. My mother helped me negotiate my conflicts with my dad, she taught me to ride a bicycle, balance a checkbook, sew on a button, check a turkey to make sure it was done, change a diaper, treat a cold, and years later, how to determine what my own infant needed when she cried. My mother did many other things for me that taken one at a time may seem inconsequential, but when taken all together, made me who I am. She also did things for me that others are unaware of, and knowing her, I am confident I am not alone in that privilege. But still, our mother did far more than these kinds of everyday maternal tasks to let us know she loved us.
Each son eventually presented our parents with a unique set of challenges, and my mother was unfailing in her ability to deal with what came. If she was ever disappointed in either of us, any sign of it was overshadowed by her actions. One son got into trouble, and my mother was there to help find a different path. One fell onto hard times, and my mother was there to help ease the burden until times got better. Another could not see beyond a broken heart, and my mother was there to offer comfort and bring hope. One child became sick, and my mother was there to provide care. Our mother has loved us collectively, but also individually in a way that expresses to each of us, in the way that only a mother can express, that she is, and shall remain, there for us, no matter what. Gone from her nest but never from her heart, fully grown but always her beloved son or little girl, each can call upon her still, and she will come. It is this, her unwavering devotion, her tireless effort to help, her unshakeable faith in our goodness, her absolute belief in our worth, that let us know then and lets us know now, that we are loved.
I am the first of five children, and over the forty-plus years since my birth I have seen much change about my mother, and I have seen much remain the same. Although now much older than the young woman in the photograph I treasure, her eyes still offer reassurance to whomever she gazes upon, as does the gentle touch she gives while listening intently to whatever one shares with her. Her smile still warms, as does her laughter and the heartfelt embrace all have come to expect when coming upon her. I still receive birthday cards, enjoy a favorite meal when I go home, and hear from her the applause and affirmations that tell me she is proud of my accomplishments. Now walking more slowly, her hands less able than they once were, her health requiring more and more concessions from her, she struggles at times to keep up with her former pace. Yet, in spite of these changes, she always manages to be there when needed.
I do not know what my mother’s dreams were, what plans she had in mind for herself as she grew up, where she wanted to visit or what she might have become if she had chosen to live her life differently. I am ashamed that I do not know these things because I have never thought to ask, but I also do not know because my mother has never uttered a word of disappointment about the life she has lived. I do not know of her regrets for she does not share them, if they exist, nor does she lament about what her life used to be like or otherwise give off signs of disappointment about what age has taken from her. Perhaps she has just accepted her life for what it is, thinking it is too late to change it. Or, perhaps she is happy with her life for what it has been. It is the latter, I like to think, because I know my mother has enjoyed being a mother, and a grandmother, and a surrogate mother or grandmother to those in need who have been fortunate enough to enter her life. I know this, because she never fails to seize the opportunity to act like a mom, to be there for someone.
I love my mother dearly, and I have a long list of things I want to do for her one day, but most of all I want to tell her “thank you”. I believe that a child, especially a son, can never express enough gratitude for what a mother has done. I know that I cannot, except that I know what I will do to try. I will do what my mother did for me: I will be there when she needs me, no matter what. I love you, Mom.
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Why a Daughter Needs a Mom (original introduction, 2004)
I enjoy a close relationship with my daughter, Meagan Katherine, albeit one that has changed remarkably as she has matured into a young teenager. Once my constant companion, my playful partner in crime, my most adoring audience, my child has become less enchanted with me as she has entered the initial phases of becoming a woman. Gone are the days of holding hands in public, kissing on the lips, and waking up to find that she had slipped beneath my bedcovers sometime during the night. These treasured gestures of affection are now replaced with brief and discrete touches, perhaps just our checks being pressed together for only a moment, small talk, her need for privacy, and the occasional impatient admonishment, “Dad, I am not your little girl anymore.”
Sometimes I struggle with feelings of loss, and sometimes I cannot resist the impulse to implore that my daughter confide in me, to tell me what thoughts occupy her mind and what feelings beat in her heart. Sometimes I hang my head and worry that something has happened to us, that we will never again be as close to one another as we once were. Sometimes I fret that I cannot understand what my child needs, why she acts as she does, and I cannot figure out what it is I should do for her. These thoughts occur to me when I am alone and my judgment is clouded by my sorrow. Thank God for moments of clarity, when I realize and then tell myself that these changes that perplex me are what should be expected, and what should be supported, if indeed I intend for my child to become the strong, independent woman I hope for. It is then that I accept without reluctance the fact that a dad cannot be everything to his daughter. It is then that I remember so clearly that she needs her mother, too.
Becky, my ex-wife, and I have been divorced nearly ten years, and we share joint custody of our daughter. Meagan lives for a time with me, and then her mom, and back to me. Becky and I live only a few miles apart. We have keys to each other’s home, we talk on the telephone often, share meals together now and then, negotiate agreements about enforcing household rules or extending new privileges, resolve disputes about what we might do differently in our relationship with our only child, and help each other in the care of our beloved daughter. Long ago we agreed that while we did become ex-spouses, we will never become ex-parents. It is as parents that our partnership lives on, and it is as parents that we overcome our own issues with one another to find a way to do what is best for Meagan. It is in that role, as my partner in parenting, that Becky has been most valuable to me, especially as I learn to accept that my daughter is, most certainly, not a little girl anymore.
As my relationship with Meagan has changed, so too has her relationship with her mother. Now her most trusted confidant, Meagan enjoys lengthy and enthusiastic telephone conversations with her mother discussing boys, girlfriend spats, celebrity news, or the latest reality television show. Now her fashion consultant, Meagan and her mom shop for hours, get their hair and nails done, and agree that when a girl packs her bags, she must include an abundant selection of shoes. Now her preferred safe harbor, Meagan turns to her mother for consolation, protection and understanding. As a woman, it is Becky who can comprehend what I cannot. As a mom, it is Becky who can give what I cannot. I admit that I look upon their relationship with an occasional twinge of jealousy, but also always with deep joy and satisfaction that it is what it has become. Their relationship is not only good for them, but for me as well. It is after a late night telephone call from Becky to explain to me what I could not yet see, or to comfort me about my parental insecurity that stings like a bee in my throat, that I am thankful that she is the mother of my child.
A daughter needs a mom for many reasons, and by the very nature of the differences between men and women, some of these reasons may never be clear to me, but that does not negate their vital importance in a girl’s life. Daughters need moms to help them to understand what is happening to their bodies, how to make sound decisions regarding boys, how to care for herself, how to care for her children, and how to care for her marriage. Daughters need moms because they understand that sometimes tears come for no reason, that bad moods may mean simply nothing at all, that chocolate is a necessity, that being silly is fun, and that everything does not have to be practical or in accordance with a schedule. Daughters need moms because dads cannot be everything for them. Daughters need moms to help them grow into the wonderful women they have the potential of becoming. Daughters need moms because without them, daughters will have less in their lives than they deserve.
I am not a mother, nor am I a daughter, and therefore in the minds of some perhaps ill equipped to write this book. However, I am an astute observer, and I am a member of a family. My family, comprised of a dad, a mom, and a child, is not unlike many, if not most other families. It includes laughter and tears, hugs and arguments, surprises and disappointments, giving and taking, and sacrifices and rewards. Although she lives in two houses, Meagan still has one family because her mother and I parent her together, love her together, and compromise with one another on her behalf. It is in gratitude to Becky for helping me to give Meagan a sense of family that I wrote this book. It is with this book that I hope to give other daughters and moms cause for celebrating what is unique and special about their relationship. With this book I hope that the story of Becky and I will stir other ex-spouses to rally around their children and embrace the role they share as parents, and in doing so, to give their children a family experience, even if in two homes. With this book I reassure Meagan that I understand, accept and encourage her as she grows into a woman and reaches beyond me for that which she needs. And with this book, I say to Becky, thank you. Thank you for giving me such a wonderful gift, our child. Thank you for being such a great mom, giving to Meagan what I cannot. And thank you for continuing as my partner, giving me friendship when I need it most.
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