Love, Love, Love

I've been thinking a lot about love - sharing it, with-holding it, tossing the word around lightly. Since my diagnosis I realize I share that word a lot more - I say it with emphasis - a sense of urgency - like it is imperative people understand to the depth of their being, how much they mean to me. I find myself wanting to take people's hand - look them square in the eye - and not turn away from whatever response might lie there. There is still a sliver within me that balks at this new connectedness - something I actively steered clear of in the past. My instinct has always been to question - in the most cynical way - the intention behind the sentiment - instead of accepting it freely and purely for what it was. There is a part of me that understands on some level that the reaction to my current state creates some kind of false reality - where positive qualities are unnaturally heaped upon a deeply flawed and normal human life and perhaps the eyes that look at me now, having bared my soul, see only this new construct - this glass house I have created through the journey of the past few months. Yet I can't help feeling that I could have missed these gifts had things un-folded differently and that what I have been given from the people in my life who have reached out over and over in the last six months is something rare and precious - the gift of articulating directly what is in their hearts - and perhaps their motivation is less important than the glow they leave behind.