I'm 79... I Don't Know Anything About Love. скачать в хорошем качестве

I'm 79... I Don't Know Anything About Love.

I'm 79... I Don't Know Anything About Love. I'm Edward. I'm 79 years old. I don't know how to love. I never have. I was married for 51 years, raised two daughters, had a career, a home, everything that looked proper. But I never learned the most fundamental thing a human being needs to know: how to let people in, be vulnerable, tell people who mattered that they mattered. I grew up in Britain after the Second World War. My father came back from the war silent and broken. My mother believed a stiff upper lip was the highest form of strength. I learned early that emotions were weakness, vulnerability was dangerous. I spent the next 70 years proving how good I was at keeping everything locked away. So good I built an entire life without ever letting anyone know me. Without ever really loving anyone. Not my wife. Not my daughters. Not even myself. I said "I love you" once, on our wedding day in 1973. Never said it again for 51 years. Margaret would say it. I'd respond "Yes, dear" or "You too." Never "I love you" back. She tried for years to get me to open up. Eventually stopped asking. When Margaret was 76, diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Terminal. Three months to live. In hospice, three days before she died, she looked at me. "Edward, I need to ask you something. Have you ever actually loved me?" I froze. Couldn't speak. "I've loved you for 51 years. But I don't think you've ever loved me. Not really. You've been kind, responsible, a good provider. But you've never let me in. I've spent 51 years married to a man I don't really know. And now I'm dying, and I still don't know if you actually love me." I wanted to say yes. Couldn't make the words come. Sat in silence.