I could never understand why anyone had ever loved me, though I was certain that I loved plenty of people. I loved my mom, the way that she always knew the answers to all the puzzles you could ever ask her. I love my dad, the way that he got excited over strange little things like grape juice. To be certain I loved my sister, the little jerk that she was, loved her completely despite the fact that she seemed to love nothing more than bringing me torment. I loved them all with a certainty that I had for nothing else, but I could not describe their loves. Why did they love me? Why was I worthy of any affections at all? This wasn’t to say I felt unloved, but I never liked questioning it. Unconditional love was an odd concept, one that didn’t compute. I felt loved for certain, but the reason why was foreign.

***
She was born in July in the middle of a torrential downpour, and I had loved her since the moment she was conceived. She was the daughter of my youth pastor, a tall bearded guy, who was over at my house so often that he was more like family. She was a big baby girl, one who had lots of dark hair from the moment she was born. She was also as stubborn as anything, demanding as early as two months that people held her hands to help her walk. She refused to learn how to crawl, she was going to walk all at once or not at all. She was an expressive young thing, though the only word she could say for a long time was hi. She was also sly, catching onto systems with ease, and happily manipulating them to her will. She like cottage cheese and hot dogs, she always wanted to look for cats. She loved music, and waved her arms spastically whenever it was played. When she was sleepy, she would go to me, and I would pick her up and spin her around, and she would slowly lay her head down gently on my shoulder as I moved slowly to a Peter, Paul, and Mary song. She was beautiful. I once sent her picture to a friend, who then asked me why I had sent her a picture of a doll. Sweet, gentle, funny, stubborn, she was perfect, and she loved me. Perhaps not as much as she loved my sister, but still, it was love, and why does a baby love anyone?

***
How is unconditional love possible? I don’t know, and I don’t know if I want to. Part of me fears the answer will be the logical answer I’ve been wanting, fears that love is nothing more than chemical reactions designed to make us more evolutionarily successful. It is almost easier to not understand love, to not know why it exists. Love does exist, and that should remain.

***
She still loves to dance, she still eats cottage cheese with her face because she doesn’t like spoons. She still heads upstairs the moment she arrives in my house, calling for the kitty. She can walk now, but she prefers to run. She can talk, but she won’t let anyone else know that. She is still a child, a small child with less than two years of experience of life, and she still loves me. She still shouts her most impassioned hi when I greet her, she still has me kiss her cheek when she leaves. She loves without question, though her life has been short. She know more about love than I, simply by not questioning it.

***
How is unconditional love possible? The most simple answer is that I don’t know. I don’t know why I miss my sister every time I leave her for any amount of times. I don’t know why some people brighten my day just by existing. I don’t know why I love people so certainly as I do. All I know is that it’s true. I know that unconditional love exists; I will use it unconditionally. Love is not meant to be thought through. It is meant to be magic.