I come from a family of love you's. We tell each other we love one another when we leave each other, say goodbye on the phone, and any other time the opportunity affords itself. Even my brother's and my friends jokingly say, "Bye, love you" to my parents as they part ways.
This may be a difficult adjustment for someone who did not grow up this way, like my loving husband.
He does not come from love you's.
Don't get me wrong. He is not one who is emotionally closed off. On the contrary. He is Latin . . .passion runs through his veins, gracias a Dios. But he just didn't grow up that way.
Saying I love you every day . . .that's just not him. Nonetheless, I know he loves me, because he shows me every day.
It's in his smile when he sees me.
It's in his kiss . . .tender when I need it, and Hollywood-style when I least expect it.
It's there when he turns on the heated seat for me a cold day before I get into the car.
It's in his choice of ice cream.
It's in the way he holds my hand when we're walking anywhere, from the beach to the city streets, to the local mall.
It's in the way he plays with me, flirts with me, tickles me, challenges my thinking, supports me, holds me.
It's in the texts he sends, that nearly always end with a beso, or an even bigger besote.
His love for me shows in the way we connect at dinner, snuggle in on a weekend morning, or in the all too few moments before we rush off to work.
And it's behind the words, I love you when they escape his heart and cross his lips.
My husband may not utter those three words after every exchange on every day, but more importantly, he shows me every day, how he loves me.
And I love him. Likewise, I am committed to showing him every day how much I love him.
And that is a portrait of love worth ten thousand words.