November 12th, 2015 - Erin Johnston

"Loud Love"

“It’s okay, big breath in and out,” I moved my hand in soothing circle on Beth’s back, trying to comfort her. We were right in front of the nurse’s station on the Labor and Delivery floor of the hospital, walking laps in the hopes labor would progress.

The nurse caught my eye, the same one who’d previously asked if I was family. The question shook me. I was family. I was proud to be family, but it was a different shape and size than a previous version of me ever would’ve considered.

I grew up Catholic, went to a Catholic school, and followed the principals of the religion in which I was raised for a portion of my adult life. I viewed a family as nuclear, bound together in impenetrable ways, a fortress that is built brick by brick.

                  Then I got divorced.

                  Then I met Mike. Then I met his kids. Then he met my kid.

                  Then my whole world changed.

Suddenly, I was mom and stepmom to four boys, ranging in age from 20 to 2. I was walking through the halls with my oldest stepson’s girlfriend on the eve of her first baby, our first grandbaby’s birth, and I couldn’t fathom a life that didn’t include all these people, but I was also terrified I wasn’t ready for the moment. I was worried I didn’t have enough experience, enough age or wisdom to be what everyone needed me to be.  

We picked up the laps, and I made eye contact with Beth. She looked strong, scared, and young. I thought of when my first biological son was born, and I remembered thinking I would never love anything more. I didn’t know then that love could shapeshift into something bigger, stronger, and more powerful.

“One more time around, and then I think we can rest,” I tried to sound reassuring, but knew the only relief would come when a healthy baby was in her arms. She cracked a tiny smile, and we turned into the curve again.

There was a quiet between us. No need to say anything, just an understanding that we were sharing this moment. Thrown together by some force neither of us saw coming. I touched her back and let the quiet stand. I have learned that sometimes love needs silent expression.  

A younger version of myself would’ve yearned to speak, because my love was loud. I loved fiercely and ferociously and loudly. I exclaimed my love, and I proclaimed my love through planning and problem solving, and day to day guidance. I made my love loud because that was where I was comfortable. I liked love to be typical in its laughter and joy and noise.

My preferred love was the easy kind of love.

Then I became a stepparent and love became hard. I am not good at the hard love. And I do not mean the tough kind of love, or the discipline kind of love, or the “I’m disappointed in the choice you made” type of love. I am not good at the love words can’t fix. I am not good at the love that doesn’t ask for anything. I am not good at the love where everything is difficult, and unfair, and there is pain I can’t take away because it is not mine. I am not good at that kind of love. I am not good at the “just know that I am here” kind of love. My love wanted to spray paint the ways it would help you on the wall. 

I was not good at quiet, hard love.

Until I learned. I learned to listen. I learned to be still. I learned that emotions come in all shapes and sizes and express in so many ways. I learned to hold them safe and secure so that I could be trusted with them again. And I learned the hard way. All trial and error. No lucky guesses, no quick fixes. I had to show up again and again and again. Even when I was tired, even when I felt hopeless, even when I felt like all of my efforts were destined to fail.

My love shapeshifted again. It was nebulous, constantly rearranging. It gained energy and power through simple moments: a study session, a new family tradition, a walk around the hospital corridor.

In the years that would follow, I would adopt my two stepsons. I would witness Braden and Beth marry; and have two more kids. I would watch Zach become a father for the first time, send Evan off to college, and watch Mason grow into a combo of all his brothers: a perfect little melting pot of our family. And all the time I was watching, my love showed up in different ways, changing shape, adjusting, and changing shape again.

Right at that moment, though, I needed to be steady. I needed to be comfort. I needed to be still. We entered the hospital room and Beth got back into bed. In a few short hours, although it would be well after midnight by then, Charley would enter the world. My first granddaughter would be born, and the woman I have grown to love as a daughter, would usher in her new love. I could see it taking shape already, as she touched her belly and watched the monitor for heartbeats and progress.  

Whether I look back or forward a decade I hope I can always see growth. I hope that my love is always a shapeshifter meeting the moment and the person right where they need. I hope there are a million more hospital walks ahead. I hope my family grows bigger and stronger, and I hope that simply by existing, the world has another example of all the different versions of family.  But most of all, I hope that my quiet love becomes as easy as my loud love has always been.

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Erin Johnston is the co-creator of Broads and Books Productions. She's editor and publisher of Midwest Weird, an audio literary magazine, and host of Fuzzy Memories Podcast.