There’s rarely a phone conversation with my two daughters that doesn’t end with a tender “love you,” on one end, echoed by a “love you, too,” on the other end. We declare our terms of endearment easily and often, and it soothes a mother’s soul.

Expressing love verbally to my children seems so effortless, perhaps because we live in a time when people are so very unabashed about saying what they feel. This kind of expression is far removed, though, from my own childhood.

Don’t get me wrong: My siblings and I were dearly loved, but that love was implied by what my parents did for us, the opportunities they gave us for bettering ourselves. It was a love without words for the most part. Hearing “I love you” was a rare occurrence.

We weren’t prone to gushing about our feelings, but my mother would stay up all night sewing a new dress for me to wear at a speech contest. That was her display of love.

My dad was the more outwardly affectionate of my parents; he’d goof around with us sometimes and we’d all think we were really getting away with something.

It was a different time and place.

I grew up amid a Scandinavian stoicism that was very much the norm in Northern Minnesota a half-century ago. My paternal grandfather had emigrated from Norway and lived with us. My maternal grandparents were born to Swedish immigrants. These were serious, hard-working people who endured their share of hardship. They were people of few words.

Of course it wasn’t all work and no play. We laughed and joked and had a pretty normal family life. We were loved but not coddled. We were praised sparingly. And we thrived in this environment where actions always spoke louder than words.

But here’s an interesting twist.

As memory loss has gripped my mother, it seems to have stripped away any inhibitions she once may have had about expressing herself. Now I find her saying “I love you” routinely when we’re done with a phone conversation. She declares her love for us in person, too.

It caught me off guard the first time she did this. It was so out of character for who we knew her to be. Mom also talks much more freely about her own upbringing during the Great Depression, confiding details I’ve never heard before.

I’ve come to realize that love is inherent, especially between mothers and their children. Once everything else falls away, be it memory or societal inhibitions or even ethnic persuasions, what is left is love. Those familiar Bible verses that were spoken at my own wedding cut to the bottom line: “Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres ... Love never fails.”

It’s Mother’s Day and I’ll call my mom today. There’s comfort in knowing she’s finally free to say “I love you” without any hesitation.

“Love you, too, Mom.”

Features editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or by email at lhintze@dailyinterlake.com.