I'm not writing of actual language here. Though in some cases that is true.
I'm writing of the acts of love which speak far more than expressing a sentence or so, which is fine and dandy. But language expressed in other ways.
Daughter went off to Ontario to visit her father and daughter and various long term friends. Before she left she quietly put some homemade soups in my freezer. Carrot and ginger. I was so keen to dive into this I nearly forgot to take a picture.
I always had difficulty in feeling loved, rooted in childhood, of course. But lately, with the help and care and compassion I was shown through my baffling and lingering illness I've become more aware, that yes, I am loved. Gifted food is a manifestation of that. Grandgirl voluntarily cleaning up a bathroom which was an awful mess before one of my procedures was another.
A friend downstairs brings me a hot Jiggs Dinner when she cooks it.
Another sends in home made jam or bottled moose from the country.
A blog friend and I share the details of the challenges of our health on an almost daily basis via email which is comforting and gives that feeling of not being alone with pain and lack of mobility and often zero energy.
Niece provides delicious family meals complete with boxed leftovers to take home and her daughter bakes delicious pies.
Her special blueberry cheesecake.
Niece also had a crack at her mother's Yorkshire Pudding, which was marvelous.And here is the turkey and Jiggs which was wonderful