More Than Steve

He throws his arms around my neck and squeezes. For the first time I let go before him.

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This past week, seven days before the end of another gift of 365 days, I wrap my arms around the littlest among us and whisper, “I love you more than Steve?”

This little game of “more than” [started by his mama] places love in context of the things we treasure most, him being the hierarchy of everything important to me.  

In the mornings he climbs into his Nēnee’s bed, a 76” x 80” world of Trash Truck adventures and guaranteed cuddles. We bury ourselves in the soft sheets flanked by two somewhat indignant cats, one pumpkin-stripped named Powder, the other, my favorite mystical creature in all the world named Steve.

He nests his head into my chest as my mind wanders to a not so distant past when love through this three-year-old was expressed not in the coming close but in the running away.

It occurs to me that children are much like cats in their feigned indifference and veiled desire to be equally coaxed and chased.

This stands amongst the most curious of lessons: Love is simultaneously great effort and no effort at all.

The heart’s shining triumph is not the attainment of matched affection but simply the resolve to lean in…again and again.

Here in the chill of this snowy morning in this last week of 365 days, I do not discount the gift of one more chance to get love right. “I missed you!” I burst out while granola spills from the crooked corners of his little mouth that spontaneously grins the silent words, “I missed you” back.

Even though it’s only been one sleep, this sense of losing time, at least for me,  is visceral and intense.

“I love you more than blueberries,” he giggles aloud. Let the lesson begin of expressing what is too big for definition by comparing it to the squishy spherical delicacy of everyday delights.

I am inspired by the profundity of this innocent exchange—

To take inventory of abundant blessings,

To marvel at the expansiveness of the love I feel,

To make priority of what is most treasured,

To apprehend that in its highest evolution love is tangible, relentless, and real.

It seems unpredictability is the most unwelcome of life experiences to both cats and children alike. Oh, how the child inside me can relate—Misappropriated anger. Disappointment manifested in losing control—my own adults played out the reality of “kicking the cat” when life got too big, too intense.

But love [the kind we long for with abandon] comes in quiet, and in defiant refusal to become discouraged and walk away.

Sometimes love is less about the grand overtures and more a humble willingness to simply remain…no matter what comes next or what is given in return.

I nearly always end my posts with, “Because I love you.”

But on this second to the last day of 2023, I am compelled to sign off with my favorite “more thans…” as a special gift to you from Archie and me—

I love you more than blueberries and snowball fights,

more than tiny white twinkling lights weaving through the tree.

I love you more than making cinnamon and nutmeg matchas.

I love you more than Steve.

NOTES:

This image of Archie. Every time I look at it I laugh. Such a breathtaking posture of independence that I so admire.

When I was a little girl, it was considered disrespectful to hold back a part of who you were and keep it all to yourself. Then, we were required to display affection. But when he runs to me on his own terms, without force or demand, the loving is just so pure.

This past week when I picked up Archie, he locked his arms around my neck and wouldn’t let me leave. This feeling…nothing can compare to being hugged by someone who doesn’t let go first.

Sometimes it feels impossible to find the words to tell someone just how important they are. And sometimes a tender comparison is all you need.

It may sound odd to hear the words, “I love you more than Steve.” But Archie knows exactly what this means. He has observed intently my tenderness with my animals—experienced the depth of loss of Graham and Poet right along with me. He has witnessed [in both head and heart] how I take care of their every need.

He knows through example that no matter how aloof or disinterested he seems, I will never disengage.

Like children and cats, it’s the unpredictability of relationship that pushes us away.

A quiet voice. A soft touch. A refusal to take offense when the response is not exactly what was hoped.

These are the gifts of love I long to give [no matter the cost] as much as consistently receive.

IMAGE BELOW—You could say I rescued Steve, but it’s more accurate to say he rescued me. The day I encountered this favored of all felines I have ever owned [and their have been at least a dozen along the way] I was in deep grief at having just lost Griffin [my black Great Dane] just three days earlier. I had wandered into the adoption area inadvertently while buying cat food for Powder when I noticed a huge grey-stripped cat, so large was his body that he couldn’t turn around in his cage. Not “in the market” for another animal, I walked past his attentive gaze. Suddenly, I felt an impressive tug on my backside. Turning around I discovered this boy [whose name “Steve” was prominently displayed on his enclosure], had wrapped his entire paw through the belt loop of my jeans. He was mine, or I was his in an instant and we’ve been deeply/supernaturally connected ever since. It is important to note that Griffin was never found…I believe Steve was the gift that would help soothe this overwhelming loss over a decade ago.