Unconditional

Warning this story for mature audience contains themes of physical abuse.

UNCONDITIONAL

BY Marie

Could this be love? For as long as I could remember, I wondered what the answer to that question was. Was love an action to be shown, or was it something said out loud? “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so,” was easy to sing, but confusing to understand when I was five. How exactly did a Bible show love?

"We show our love when we provide and give to our kids," my dad once told a friend. I happened to overhear him from another room; I was seven and quite the eavesdropper. If this was true, my dad really loved my brothers, my sister, and me, because he worked more than he slept in order to provide for us. We also had many extra luxuries, like vacations, a Catholic education, and presents at Christmas and on our birthdays. You could really feel the love during those times. However, I never quite believed love was entirely about material things or vacations.

That realization came the moment I forgot to say thank you for a gift and was slapped right across the face. Right then, I learned that love in my home came with conditions. I remember the slap; it was my mom’s way of showing "love." I was nine years old when I realized the slap was supposed to mean love. This environment seemed to appease my siblings, but I was always asking for more, and consequently, I frequently got slapped.

I wanted the kind of love I saw on TV or read about in fairytales. Books depicted love in a way that took my breath away. In stories, a person in love seemed as though they would almost die without their beloved next to them. I wanted a love like Cinderella and her Prince Charming. He rescued her from her terrible life and searched the entire kingdom just for her. Those two definitely had love. The problem was, they were fictional people created by the imagination of two brothers, Disney then captured that love for a movie. When I watched it, I wanted to be Cinderella. In my eyes, she had true love, and they said they lived happily ever after. But how do we really know?

I was eighteen when I experienced my first real "grown-up" love. I call it grown-up because I was intimate for the first time, which was a way to show love—right? Wrong. I realized this three months later when we broke up due to a pregnancy scare. One thing I knew for sure: love hurts. It would be a long time before I thought I was in love again.

However, there was one person for whom I felt an overwhelming, protective affection: my little sister, Jessica. I felt a love for her unlike any I had ever felt before. She was born when I was nearly ten. Aside from my bratty older brother and sister—whom I was simply told to love, so I supposed I did as I was told—Jessica was entirely different. She was tiny, and I got to be her big sister. I was allowed to hold her, feed her, and help my mom with her. I did so gladly because none of my other siblings ever seemed to want to be around her; they sometimes got upset when asked to help. I gladly took their turns. She was so perfect. A baby seems to love you for the simplest things, smiling and laughing when you care for them. Jessica was my world, and I knew this had to be what love was—blessed by God and shared with us. I thought I loved her more than life itself.

We shared a room from the time she was born until I turned eighteen. We always got along. I mean, how do you fight with someone so much younger and so cute? My other siblings teased her and called her names, which always broke my heart. It hurt to see her cry, and I was happy whenever I was able to stop her tears. My fondest memories of growing up happened after she was born—until the day I chose myself over my baby sister.

I left home when I was eighteen. I knew that without me, she would not have an ally and would be teased, but I left anyway, always thinking that someday I would come back for her. But I never did. Her heart broke from my actions, and she hurt from my absence. I didn't know how I could hurt someone I loved so much. Did I really understand love?

Years later, we would reconnect, and she became my number-one person and friend. But when she needed me again later in life, I wasn't there to say goodbye. Just as I had left her twenty years earlier, she left town without a word. It was another misunderstanding of love. What made me hurt her twice? Her distance was felt as deeply as her physical move, and though I loved her, I stayed away because I believed she was better off without my love. She had created her own idea of love, and I wasn't allowed in; I hadn't met the conditions she had placed on it. Can the hurt run so deep that she never wanted to return to that hurt?

Feeling like a complete failure, I retreated back into a fantasy love and looked again for my Prince Charming.

When I found him, I thought maybe this would finally be love. Instead, he was a toad. He "loved" me, and he showed it every time I didn't follow his orders by subjecting me to his slaps and punches. He always followed the abuse with, "I love you so much, why do you make me do these things?" I felt like that was as good as it got. I began to think that maybe the love followed by beatings in my childhood was what love truly was, just like my mom used to say after she hurt me.

During my search for love, I did learn one valuable lesson. It was taught to me by Whitney Houston in the 1980s when she sang, "Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all." Wow. That had to be part of the formula. I had never thought about loving myself. No one else's love seemed to do anything but hurt in the end, so why would I intentionally love myself if I didn't even like myself? After many years of therapy, I found this realization to be true, yet I didn't know how to put it into practice. So, it just stayed on a shelf with many of my other profound realizations.

For many years, time passed and I stopped looking for love. I thought maybe it was stupid to want to be loved all the time. Growing up, that’s all I ever wanted: to be loved through my mistakes and wrongdoings, to be able to live life on my own terms, and still be loved the next day. I wasn't sure why this desire consumed me. Maybe it was because I believed that if I could learn to love without the negativity, I could truly love someone someday instead of just doing it because I was told to.

Looking back now, I understand how many types of emotions go into a healthy, loving relationship. I learned this through a true Prince Charming who came into my life and rescued me. I knew from the very first glance that I would crush on him madly.

I was at work, participating in a breakout session during a meeting, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. As I turned around, I came face-to-face with a pair of emerald eyes. He spoke to me first, but I could hardly pay attention to his words because I was too busy noticing his broad, deeply tanned shoulders. His lips were moving, but all I could do was watch how his full lips put words together. He was, and still is, the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I could hardly catch my breath.

As it turned out, he was merely there to ask about job listings. Since my job was to fill empty positions, I felt my heart sink a little into my butterfly-filled stomach as he walked away. The butterflies became even more intense as I watched him leave—to say he had a handsome walk is an understatement; he practically sashayed out of the room with a perfect football physique. This left me longing for another encounter with this mystery man. I felt that for a moment, when he looked into my eyes, we connected and locked in a way I had never experienced before.

It was two long weeks before we had an occasion to cross paths again. It was only brief, but my hands shook and my stomach filled with butterflies when he said hello as he was leaving and I was coming to work. A little investigation gave me a profile on this hot guy, so I casually started showing up where he hung out, hoping he might notice me. I had little confidence; with so many tall blondes around, I worried he might not have a liking for a shorter Latina brunette. But I kept thinking about that first meeting. He had locked eyes with me, and I could feel words that his lips didn't speak but that his eyes expressed. I definitely wanted to meet up with him.

Following social norms at the time, it was the guy who had to ask the girl out. The best I could do was hope I hadn't misread his eyes. On our very first date, I realized it wasn't just my imagination. He, too, was mystified by the connection, and found himself asking, "Do you believe in love at sight?" followed closely by, "I love you."

This was not what I had anticipated. Of course, I felt something more than mere liking, but love? I still didn't know what that meant. So, I politely said, "I really like you a lot." I could have just said it—I did love him—but for some reason, it was scary. Alarm bells seemed to ring in my ears as our date ended.

Even so, he was a true Prince Charming. He rode in and rescued me from almost all my problems. Dating him made me the envy of almost every woman at our workplace. In my family, he was well-liked because of his witty nature and Southern charm. He was intelligent and spoke like a walking dictionary. Besides being incredibly good-looking, he was kind, easygoing, and laid-back, rarely showing discontent about anything. He could carry a conversation on almost any topic, literally surprising everyone who wrongly assumed he was nothing more than a dumb jock. He was a thoroughly cool, handsome man who stood by me and always wanted me on his team. This was something entirely new to me. He set a precedent within my family that he only had eyes for me and that I would always be protected by him. This solidified my belief that he could do anything. He rode in like a prince and treated me like a princess, just like in my favorite childhood books.

When I said "I do" on April 15, 1989, I knew I would have to make some allowances for him if I intended to stay married. But the way he looked at me—like he never had eyes for anyone else—made me commit that day to love him no matter what, and to always be open to forgiveness.

The years to follow were anything but a simple "happily ever after." I found myself confused once again. Here was a man I loved, but the love felt phony at times. When arguments occurred, I didn't know how to navigate them; I didn't expect love could coexist in a relationship that held such anger. Yet, he never left. He always countered tension with something witty to say, and his laid-back demeanor made life happy most of the time. We knew we loved each other, but I still wondered: were there conditions?

Enter Carol, his mother. She was a beautiful soul and much like her son: easygoing and delightful to be around. I wasn't sure what our relationship would be like when I joined my husband's family, but Carol made it clear from day one. Whenever she told stories of the terrible things her children did growing up, she would smile and wink at her son. She spoke the word "love" out loud on both her best days and her worst. We quickly became fast confidantes. I was more than her daughter-in-law; I was her daughter. She did as much for me as she did for her own children, and later, she did the same for my kids.

I asked her once how she could love someone who let her down or disappointed her. "My dear," she said, "that's when you put on your big-girl panties, stand by their side, and let them know they are loved. You can't put conditions on someone you love, or else it's not really love."

What a strange thing for me to hear. To me, love had been nothing but conditions. But according to Carol, it wasn't. She demonstrated her unconditional love countless times for all four of her children. She chose to hold her temper when they messed up, helping instead by lending an ear or a shoulder to lean on alongside sage advice. I watched this for years.

Whenever love seemed to disappoint me and I questioned whether my husband and I really had it, she would laugh and explain, "You two will never break up, because you have a rare love that most people find difficult to achieve. You love each other unconditionally."

And it was true. There was no mountain high enough or obstacle big enough that we could not overcome. It felt like we were dragon slayers, slaying all the things that tore at us or our family. We always had each other's back. Each time we slayed a dragon in our path, we learned a little more about the power of love. We supported each other financially, emotionally, and mentally, helping each other accomplish our goals. He gave me the gift of encouragement, telling me exactly what I needed to hear to become successful. A few years later, when I reached that success, he congratulated me just as I had always done for him.

The pedestals we had placed each other on were low to the ground when we first said "I do" compared to the skyscrapers they are now. I knew I loved him because he could make a mistake, and there wasn't a single one that was unforgivable—at least not in my heart. I could and would forgive him for anything. He loved me despite my faults, and he made me feel safe. He taught me about myself, and through him, I finally understood how to love myself.

Turns out, Whitney Houston was only half right. The greatest love of all is being loved in a way that sets no conditions, leaving you free to grow and finally achieve a love of self.

Over the course of our nearly 40-year relationship, my love has only grown stronger for him, and his for me. Each time I needed him, he had my back. In sickness and in health, he loved me through one of my worst accidents, letting go of anything and anyone that hurt me. Although it wasn't easy, he stayed by my side, pouring into me the love I needed to fight through the aftermath of the accident.

Today, I can confidently say that I possess love and truly know what it is. Love has no boundaries or limits. It places no conditions on your loved ones. It can be romantic, but it also transcends family and friendship. Although expressed differently, true love has one unyielding characteristic: it must not be set with conditions. It must be unconditional.

The day my children were born, I wanted them to feel my love—not just through material gifts, but reinforced every day through my actions and words. My children could misbehave, come home in handcuffs, or lie about where their rent check went, and they still knew they were loved despite the boneheaded decisions they made. They could tell us anything without fear of judgment. There was no argument or mistake big enough to halt our love for them. There were no conditions.

I finally discovered how love is patient, kind, and does not put on airs. Love is lasting, unforgettable, and has no ending. Love involves tears and a lot of hard work, but it is also so much fun.

"I love you," he had said all those years ago. He really meant it. Turns out, it truly was love at first sight. Though our love has traveled through many trials and rough roadways, it has never reached a dead end. I still get butterflies when I know he is on his way home from work or the grocery store. He provides the first smile I see in the morning and the last one I see before I fall asleep. He may have started out as my Prince, but he has grown into my King. I know this because he has made me the Queen of his heart.