My grandmother says she married when she was fifteen years old and didn’t know what love was. She played by the creek when she was married and afterwards she had the added responsibility of weaving majestic Persian rugs for her in-laws.
It took three years for her to have her first daughter and that’s when she found that love was there. I asked her if she told my grandfather that she loved him and she got mad at me and said, “why are you asking such unintelligent questions! He didn’t need to hear it, he already knew!”
We get so lost in words these days that we forget the unspoken language that exists as well. Sometimes there is no need to speak what is already clear through action through touch through just the purity of what the eyes hold.
She is as she has always been. A survivor, born after her fathers death. She says the time she had with my grandfather was full of love and that he was an amazing man to her. But now she has forgotten the exact feeling of what that love was that she felt. But she knows it was love. From the beginning until his departure which came to soon for her.