by Linda Gallant Potts

Created on: April 19, 2007   Last Updated: April 23, 2007

How Do You Know He Loves You?

How do you know when you are truly loved? An old song asked that question and said "It's in his kiss." Nowadays, that reply doesn't hold water. So where do we search for an answer to that age-old query today?

Is it in the romantic gifts of flowers, candy, or jeweler traditionally given on special occasions like for Valentine's Day? Is it in the gestures of support we get on a regular basis the sudden compliment, the chores done willingly around the house, the much-needed dinner out?

All of these matter, but I think I've found the definitive answer to whether your partner really loves you.

Now, many people have told me how lucky I am to have a "Super-Hero" for a husband. He is devoted, and protective, a "Saint Bernard" of a man At six-foot four and possessing hands the size of a catcher's mitt, he moves through life like a force of nature. Few people would even think to challenge him, and being loved by him brings a sense of safety and security. But there is one aspect to his readiness to protect that can have a downside. Occasionally, his reactions can be considered a little extreme.

I should know, because a few years ago he tried to save my life.

It was late May, and the week had been unseasonably warm. I was in the kitchen preparing supper when our young adult son burst into the house. It was obvious he'd been in a fight. A few drops of blood were splattered on his shirt. His knuckles were skinned.

It wasn't anything that I hadn't seen before. Life in a large suburban community carried its share of danger, and as a young man, he seemed to have inherited his father's reactive adrenaline surges when he felt threatened.

Before I had a chance to speak, he started telling me what happened.

"I just had a fight with Matt," he said, closing and locking the door.

To be honest, the news didn't surprise me as much as you'd expect. I knew my son's temper, and I knew Matt. Even as a youngster, he could be trouble. Now that he was older, with the rumor of a tough gang of friends to back him up, he was more of a concern.

Our young "Caped Crusader" supplied a few more details of the altercation then jumped into the shower. An hour later, he left for work, but not before telling us to keep our eyes open for a blue Honda in the driveway that night. "Just be sure to keep the doors locked," he warned.

Despite the paranoia that gnawed at us, the evening passed uneventfully. The warm weather lingered until bedtime, and we left the windows open and the blinds

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