Love Wars

I admit - I tell my boys I love them all the time.  I'm a sap that way.  They have heard those words from Day One.  At first meeting, for all three of my precious sons, they were covered with love words from me.  Ben and Elijah as babies in my arms and Aaron as a six year old at a mental institute. 

Some days love is a choice - other days an overwhelming feeling that bursts forth from the depth of my being.  I love my boys. 

Ben and Elijah, since little guys learning to talk, have learned to said "I love you" back to me.  When they do, we have a war.  I love you, I love you more - Love Wars.  Who loves the most.  I always win of course.  The love of a mother to her child is much greater than the love of a child to their mother.  At least that is the argument I use when they try to out-trump my love.  They can't defeat me in the love war.  It is a fun game and has deep meaning.  Love.  Unconditional.  No matter what.

Aaron has heard me whisper words of love in his ear from the first day we showed up at his drab, dreary institute.  Foreign words.  Meaningless words.  But the sameness of them, usually accompanied by kisses and caresses, hugs and other whispers soon began to penetrate his hurting and distrustful heart. 

In the beginning I never got a response back from him.  He would move away, out of reach of my whispers and kisses.  I didn't give up.  Not my son.  As time passed, he stopped pulling away, instead freezing in place, scared to move - unsure - nervous.  More time and he would lean in, invite the words, smile for the kisses - but with great caution.  Eventually, goofiness followed, desiring deeply to be touched and loved but scared. So he would giggle and pretend to fight, push me off - but not really.  Sometimes - on rare occasions, he would sit on my lap, rock in the chair.  No fighting, no goofiness, just the pleasure of sitting.  At other times he would come to me, on his own, head down, wanting to hear, to feel this thing called Love.

Finally, Aaron let me hold him.  In my arms.  Head on my shoulder.  Whispers and kisses in his ear with his body tight against mine.  Sweet joy.  For both Mama and son. 

But never the words back from him.  Only Mama said the love words.  Until one night, just a few days ago, tucking him into bed, kissing his little blond hair and saying, for the thousandth time, "I love you."

Then, I hear it.  In the tiniest voice possible, he whispers - "I love you." 

Almost too quiet to catch but caught indeed.  My Mama heart melted right there.  "I love you."  No longer meaningless.  No longer foreign.  Love.  Now, freely spoken, freely received - "I love you" - "I love you more" - and the war has begun. 

My love crossed the ocean for you - little boy - top that! Love Wars.