I felt love for my family, and I was always aware that they loved me. The words, however, were never spoken

I can’t remember being told as a child that I was loved, nor can I recall ever expressing in words that I loved my parents or siblings. Don’t get me wrong; I felt love for my family, and I was always aware that they loved me. The words, however, were never spoken.

To this day, I don’t know why. Perhaps neither of my parents were taught to verbally share their feelings. Regardless, there was always a feeling of love in my house, and I certainly never felt lacking in not being specifically told — in fact, this was normal to us.

My first adjustment came about soon before I married. Certainly, it felt normal to say those “three little words” to the woman with whom I would share the rest of my life. And so I did. Several times a day. But my safety zone ended there. I was never comfortable saying those words to anyone else. Even as my children were born, grew, and matured into adults, conversations always ended with “goodbye,” and nothing more.

It was not until my father fell ill that my attitude began to change, and my vocabulary grew. Aware of his own mortality and growing more appreciative of his daily blessings, my father surprised me once when I visited him in a rehabilitation facility after a close call with death. As I bid him goodbye, he said it. The words flowed out as naturally as if he had said them to me every day for the previous 47 years — although I am certain it was the very first time. And I responded in kind. Although I recognized that this was a new dialogue for us both, I don’t think I showed an outward reaction to it. If I did, my father showed no response to my reaction. But, then again, why would I react? The absence of the healthy expression of love, albeit for all of my life, did not detract from the fact that it was normal to be shared, not the opposite.

And so began a new normal. Most conversations with my father from then on ended with “I love you.” When he passed in June of 2016, I was consoled by having had this chance to enhance our relationship.

I started to notice changes in my attitude toward communication with others.

I told my kids I loved them.

I even said it to close friends occasionally, when warranted and appropriate.

Yet, for reasons I’m still unaware of, this exchange of a simple sentiment, crucial to so many, never took place between me and the person who actually gave me life — my mother.

This was in no way an indication that Mom did not show love. Anyone who has ever had the good fortune to know her knows that everything she did was driven by her love for others. If love is giving, then she loved the world, even those she didn’t know. Mom showed it with her deeds and with her actions — but she did not show it with words.