There's the lovey-dovey stuff you see when people first get together. The "love you like a friend"––yeah, guys REALLY love to hate that one. Then there's the love your parents have for you, displayed in all kinds of ways that are subtle, overt and dysfunctional. Sometimes all at once. Let's not forget puppy love, your first love, love of chocolate, the love for your children, jungle love, the love triangle, the love that got away, the things you do for love, love of the open road, pet love (not to be confused with the aforementioned puppy love), love from afar, six-pack love––you know you know what I mean––love of your favorite team, love of babies and I'm sure I'm forgetting to post a lot of others. But I don't want to fall in love with my own writing.
But the face of love that I see every day I wake up is the one that keeps me going. Keeps me living. Keeps driving me to survive cancer day after day after day. When I look at my Wife, Teresa, I can see the love in her eyes, her smile and her worry. And she has done a lot of worrying the last 15 months. Every bad turn, every test, every set-back she has been there ready and loving. For me. And I feel it, every bit of it. Her worry is because she loves me.
I have always thought it so amazing that I can love someone sooooo much who is not related to me. They say that blood is thicker than water. I can't buy that. There's no way I can love someone any more than I love Teresa. I know it's a different kind of love. One that I can't really explain. (Some writer I am, huh?). But I do recognize that no matter what happens to me, no matter what I put her through, no matter how much she worries when I ask her not to, it's always there when I look at her.
The face of love. Right in front of me, where I need it most.
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