Love, Relationships, and Impermanence - A Valentine's Day Reflection

 

On February 14, 2015, while I certainly do celebrate and give thanks for all the love in my life, what seems most on my heart this Valentine’s Day is the reality of love’s impermanence.

In so many ways the world tries to convince us that love is forever, but human love is oh-so-temporary and fragile. My mother, one of the most loving people many of us had ever known, died suddenly and tragically on her birthday in a car accident 15 years ago. In that single, icy moment we lost her. Her memory endures; her spirit is arguably still with us, along with her wisdom and legacy. But in most every tangible way, her love is gone; my relationship with her is no longer available to me. Death happens. Its arrival for all of us is an ultimate certainty, though its timing remains a mystery. And it is our human relationships that get caught in death's crossfire.

But it isn't only death that can rob us of loving relationship. When we fall in love romantically and begin to open and ultimately give our heart to another, we do so at tremendous risk. For while two people may fall in love together, walk through their courtship together, encounter the chapters and seasons of their lives together, perhaps even have children together, one of the two – acting unilaterally – can simply walk away from the relationship at any time, call it quits, taking the love away with him/her. This has always struck me as tremendously unfair, tragic, and even devastating. Romantic love’s utter impermanence continues to blow its cannon sized holes in my fragile heart well into my 50’s. And to be clear and fair here, I have been on both sides of this cannon. I have fired the shot and I have been its target.

But the loss of love that comes from a parent's death or from a romantic break up are child’s play when compared to the most unthinkable lost love of all. It's a possibility that haunts me every day, and far too many people I know have experienced it. I have but one and only one child, an amazing 7 year-old daughter. The love she has brought into my life and the love she has unleashed in me is beyond all measure. Every day, as I do my absolute best to love, nurture, protect, and celebrate her, I am aware that even she and her immense, incredible love are not permanent. I have no guarantees that she will be with me tomorrow, much less in 20 or 40 years. Children her age and younger die every day, every hour, every minute all over this fragile world, Car accidents and cancers, starvation and S.I.D.S., drones and drownings claim the lives of innocent children constantly. And what can we do about it? Nothing…

The impermanence of human love and human relationships is everywhere apparent. It is a defining characteristic of being human. And while our hearts resist this truth at every turn, we must, somehow, learn to live with it. Our minds must somehow come to grips with it too. Gratitude, it seems to me, is one very important part of how we do that. Being thankful and expressing our gratitude for those relationships we cherish absolutely lightens this load we carry around in the form of a deep, unsettling truth. 

Impermanence is knit tragically into the very fabric of our being, and though we try not to talk about it or acknowledge it, every now and then, something happens – perhaps in our own lives, in the life of a neighbor, or even on the evening news – that reminds us that none of our human relationships last forever, though the feelings and memories attached to them might.

I wish I could end this blog entry with a solution, some cyber inoculation against our innate human vulnerability where love is concerned. I grew up in the Christian tradition, which claims that God’s love is eternal and I believe that. The Apostle Paul wrote that "love never ends." Maybe not, but relationships sure do. And in those times, when a loved one is taken from us or simply walks away, faith's aphorisms provide little consolation.

I'm sure that to many readers, this reflection feels entirely negative and pessimistic, but that is neither its intention nor its spirit. I've come to believe that the most negative thing we can do is deny or resist the fundamental impermanence of our relationships, for in doing so we take them for granted and lose sight of their power in the here and now. Conversely, if we can come to grips with their impermanence and live in their somewhat shadowy light, there may be some profound gifts in store for us.

To be human is to live with what Pema Chodron calls “a certain groundlessness.” She and many of the great Buddhist teachers call us to sit with, accept, and even “lean into” this terrifying truth. That "leaning in" is what I am endeavoring to do even now on this Valentine's Day. And perhaps, just perhaps, if we have the courage to do that – to sit with and lean into the utter impermanence of human love and relationships - we will discover the profound beauty, goodness, and love that is ours in this one, single moment we call “now.”

                               “The past is history; the future’s a mystery.

                          Today is a gift, which is why we call it the present.”