I spent time with my mom and grandma today, and Mom began telling Gram of a rough time I'd had with my paternal grandma in my teenage years. I, never intoxicated, ever-the-virgin, had become the black sheep of the family despite my pregnant teen, underage drinking cousins' existence. Things came to a good resolution before my grandma died, but the emotion of hurt came back quickly today.

Gram looked across the table at me and admonished me, lovingly, to remember the good things. She said that my grandma may have acted upon unfounded advice, but that she really had loved me dearly. Then Gram told me that _she_ loves me dearly, and if there ever comes a time I don't believe that, I should talk to her about it. If I don't, she'll take me outside and...invoke some sort of bodily punishment reminiscent of discipline when I was a child. I laughed and said it was nice to know she loves me enough to smack me around. Then I went around the table, hugged her, and almost burst into tears when she whispered fiercely, "I love you!"

All I could get out was a "You, too," before I escaped. A tear shot out of my eye--not a nice, little, drippy one, but a real shot--something that would have a "boing" sound effect.

I think that being loved hurts almost as much as feeling unloved does. Maybe because self-worth comes into question? Maybe because there's responsibility attached? Maybe because there's the potential (inevitability) for loss? It's a good hurt...just not one I'm used to feeling.