The Gift of Love

“Come and spend Christmas with us, Mom,” my son said, his bride smiling beside him on the tiny screen. “We want you here with us!”

A recent heartbreak still stung. It was an easy decision.

“Of course.” I smiled and waved back. They are newly married, less than a year, and dizzyingly happy. I packed my carry-on and included small tokens of my appreciation for them, and her extended family, for having them all in my life.

I made my way through security at the Guadalajara Airport and found the gate for the short flight to Baja California Sur. I found an ideal seat with the designated gate in my line of vision and pulled out a new book. I am not sure what made me look up, maybe a child’s giggle, or a woman’s laugh. I put down my book with a sigh and exchanged reading for people watching. I watched the steady stream of travelers, all of them strangers I’d never see again. Like many of us, I didn’t like to admit how much I enjoyed quietly judging their stories.

There were people of every kind: singles, families, the sad, the stoic. And there were couples: young and old, honeymooners, some with unhappiness written on their faces. One couple looked at everything and everyone with suspicion. They wore their mutual support like a shield. The two of them against the world, whether they were happy or not.

They could have been any couple from anywhere. He kept watch over their bags and saved the seats while she had a look in the array of shops. She returned with a sandwich and an iced tea to share. He waited with elbows on his knees, absently flicking the screen, and looked up at her with food in her hand. She offered him half. Maybe he smiles and makes room for her to cuddle next to him. Maybe he shrugs and goes back to frowning and scrolling. Did she care, either way? I wondered. Little gifts of love to be reciprocated … or not.

I sat there, alone, discreetly watching others. I looked at the empty chair next to me and recalled the many times I had a partner who sat there.

In that moment, in this anonymous airport with hundreds of strangers around me, I had an epiphany of sorts. Although I did miss the receiving of great love, I missed the giving of it infinitely more. I had always given my love unconditionally and showed it with small gestures. I offered my love in many little gifts: a pat on his arm, a gentle stroke across his shoulder as he leaned forward to gaze at his phone. I’d give him a soft kiss before excusing myself to find a sandwich and an iced tea.

In that moment, I understood, love is a gift we give to others, something from our heart. I missed the giving. The little gifts of everyday kindness: a whispered good morning, a greeting with the snap of the door lock, preparing meals together.

I thought of the small gifts I had packed for my son and daughter-in-law. Little things for which I had no expectation of anything in return. The look of happiness on their faces, the love in their warm embrace, these were the gifts I treasured, their gifts of love to me. These things are always enough.

When the love and trust of a partner is returned and given freely, magic enters our lives. Even among the strangers surrounding me that December afternoon, I could feel the quiet power of those small, loving exchanges.

I carry that loving magic with me every day, in my family, my siblings and their families, my dear friends, and the new life glowing in the eyes of my son’s beautiful wife. These wonderous little gifts of love will always return to me, no matter who sits next to me, even if it’s no one.