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As a child I grew up with very little in the way of parental love. I never thought of it then, but as the years have gone by it became something I wanted to be able to give to my children.
My mother was raised in an Indian orphanage in Portland Oregon, which was run by Catholic Nuns. There were so many children there, that love was something that was not given freely.
My father was abandoned along with his three brothers by his mother at the age of five, and left in the care of a grandmother that had little time for four young boys. The boys were placed in the bunk house with the hired help, and were each given chores for their care.
With this background, my parent did not know how to give love, because they did not understand what it was. To them, taking care of five children and making sure we were fed and clothed was in their way love. We, on the other hand, felt abandoned ourselves, finding a form of love between us. If we were afraid we would turn to each other for comfort. This followed into our adulthood, and to this day it still holds true.
After I married and had a child of my own, I began to feel something in my heart toward this little baby. I felt an overwhelming desire to protect this new life with everything I had. To be a mother who would show her love in such a way that there would never be any doubt in his heart about how I felt.
As I think back to my childhood, I know how my mother and father must have felt toward each of us. They had love for us, and showed us in many ways that we did not understand. They protected each one of us from the outside world until we were old enough to take care of ourselves. And after we left home and married, they still were there in many ways if we needed them.
They are gone now, and I wish I could say to them, I love you mom and dad.
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