Love pt 6

I am finding a pattern.  Love makes me weep.
I heard a lot when I was little that my father or mother 'loved' me.  I was told often, I think.
But it didnt mean much, if it meant anything.  The formality you say when hanging up the phone.  The required (yes, required) response when leaving for bed.  In fact, it became something I was disgusted with.

I remember back in 2010 when I did not respond "love you too, daddy" and was reprimanded for it.  I hated myself, but I was an 'obedient' daughter and I said it.  He then told me I needed to smile when I said it and made me repeat it until he felt that I was smiling nicely and had a sufficiently truthful and 'loving' tone in my voice.  (making the heart change is a big thing with Pearl discipline.  Make them repeat or re-do until it with cheerfulness and in a complete and thorough manner.  From washing dishes to saying 'I love you')

Is it any wonder the word meant nothing?  And that when other people would use it I would scoff, or question, or challenge the sentiment? 
"Why?"
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, yeah"
"I know"
"Whatever"

The word meant nothing.  The sentiment was a foreign one.  The meaning was lost.
But not irretrievably.

I find when I really feel loved or when I truly love someone else or something: I leak.  Tears, or emotions, or poems, or effusive hugs, or physical closeness/proximity.  But most of the time I cry.

I remember back in 2006 when I was talking with my grandmother on the phone about something unimportant and nondescript when I suddenly began crying.  She asked what was the matter and all I could get out was that I really, really loved her.  She was obviously confused and surprised by the tears, but was glad to hear that I felt that way.
The middle of this year a father-figure wrote me and my sister a kind and beautiful letter.  I cry every time I read it. . 

I have also become more sensitive to how other people (mostly vicariously through movies and books) love and its effect on people.  Like a fascinating new subject I am esoterically peering at through my microscope.
Nevertheless, I am learning a lot.
I can see why people want a God of love.  I can see why people who have truly felt His love never look back.  Why when Mrs. G. talks about her beliefs her eyes light up.  Why she clings to her faith through the things that daily knock her off her feet.
And I want that.