Full Disclosure

My close observations of love letters in the few months have made me realize that every letter I've written has lacked something. Then, I had written as a naive girl trying to convey surface feelings for a loved one. And honestly, if I could go back and read things I wrote for those people, I would cringe. Those letters weren't about love. And for the sake of it, i'm not sure that I can actually say I've written a love letter now.

Recently, I remembered how therapeutic it was to write out everything that has been bouncing around in my head. When I am writing for myself, I jot down every doubt, worry, fear, smile, dream that I have. No reservations. Re-reading while I fixed some typos, i had a realization about the whole concept. Preface: 1) I was writing about a particular someone when said realization took place 2) I care more about them then I admit (no, not love).

If it really is love, why would you hold things back about something you obviously share. If there are doubts or fears, wouldn't it be far more human to include the bad with the good? Love is knowing that those fears tell you you are afraid of losing something you feel strongly about, why be ashamed of that? It's not doubt so much as protecting it from weakness.

I read over my full disclosure rant and could very well mail it tomorrow. Looking at it from this angle, I really want to get back on track with my Mom's love letters. Maybe I should turn it into a view of love letters across the generations?

Love Letters

I've gotten through about 5 or 6 of my Mom's love letters. Most of it is the loving, random ramblings of a man longing for his firecracker in the States. Each of these letters hint a little bit about who my Mom was, and how she loved. Through the hopeful images of a life together, this man speaks of my Mother in a very different light then i've ever known...
She longed for this man, she felt lonely, she was timid in love, and she was scared. Of course, all of these are hidden amongst the purely positive characteristics of my Mom. But one thing I rarely, and almost never, saw in my Mom was a hint of any weakness.

My Mom usually didn't offer support or advice for me in my ventures through boyfriends and loved ones. She made me figure it out the same way that she did, which wasn't such a bad thing- it definitely made me stronger. I am finding comfort that I am more like my Mom then I thought. She felt the same doubts, she dreamt the same, and she loves the same way I do.

Life is funny; while I'm extremely saddened in the idea that I don't have her here to guide me, I am comforted knowing that she is still teaching me, somehow.