I love you so much, Mum, Id say over breakfast when I was about fourteen.
Oh? Well then, next time I come home from work, why dont you peel some potatoes? Thats how Ill really feel it, even if you say nothing at all, Mum would reply with a smile.
I absolutely adore my cat! Id declare, pressing my cheek into his soft, warm fur.
Well, maybe youll change his litter sometime? Dad would suggest. The poor thing looks miserable, trying to avoid the damp patches
Id listen to my parents, bemusedhere I was, talking about love! Why did it always come back to cat litter and potatoes?
I remember when I was little, around seven, I had to stay in hospital for a few weeks. The hospital was out in the countryside, and in those days, rules were very strict. Parents could only drop off parcels during certain hours, and could only see their children from the hospital gardensif you were lucky, you might come to the window and wave. It was September, thankfully, not too cold yet.
Mum would visit me twice a day. Each morning and evening, the nurse would place a small package on my bedside table: homemade curd cheese, still-warm fruit compote, a bit of porridge, a steamed meatball. Just enough for one mealMum would bring fresh food a few hours later. Nestled alongside, wrapped in newspaper to keep them neat, were three or four sheets of paper with outfits drawn for my paper dolldo you remember those, with little white tabs at the sleeves to fold over? I loved colouring and cutting out those dresses, skirts, coats, and pyjamas, admiring how Mum always found time to sketch new designs, complete with bows, pompoms or polka dots.
I never once asked her to do this. It wasnt medicine, mineral water or chicken broth. She just knew how much it delighted me.
That was her way of saying I love you. I only fully understood and cherished it many years later, but the memory has lasted ever since.
We so often overlook the little things
Yes, beautiful words, confessions, poemsthey matter. We women love hearing I love you, and long for that steady reassurance. But if those words arent mirrored by actions, theyre soon empty. Sure, you can say I love you with a diamond ring or an extravagant bouquet, or perhaps a surprise trip in a hot air balloonand thats wonderful, no doubt.
Yet there are simpler, daily ways to show loveif you really feel it.
Friends of ours have a dachshund who became paralysed. Her back legs cant move, but shes lived like this for three years now. Her owner built her a special cart with wheels, so she could still take herself around the park each day.
They could have carried her, or rolled her out in a pram, but she wants to walkon her own. So thats what they gave her, simply because they love her.
When love is real, we find endless ways to express it, naturally, without a seconds thought.
We tiptoe into bedrooms at night to tuck in blankets and smooth pillows, careful not to disturb someones sleep. We gently remove a phone from slack hands, so ringing wont shatter precious drowsy minutes.
We become gourmet cooks, pouring our hearts into morning coffee, and crafting trains from cheese and tomato slices on a childs platea train steaming its way towards a sunny flower made of eggs and tomatoes.
We listen, sometimes for hours, to friends who need little more than our quiet presence. We invent gifts and surprises, winking moods into grey days.
Well spend our last pounds on medicine and without hesitation, cut up cherished necklaces to decorate a tutu for the village pantos snowflake dancer.
Life is so very longand just as swiftly, unbearably short. Little acts linger in memory for a lifetime. A loving heart feels when its I love you is especially needed.
As far back as I can recall, Mum and Gran always stepped into the hall to greet Dad or Granddad as they came through the doorevery man should feel expected and welcome in his own home. I try to do the same.
Now, I sit before my laptop, knitting strands of thought into a sensible pattern, when I hear the key in the lock. I promise myself to stand upjust as soon as I finish this row, so the stitches dont drop.
He appears in the doorway, and I smile: Just a few more minutes, then tea will be ready! I drift back into my jumble of words.
And suddenlysoundlessly, careful not to disturb my train of thoughta mug of strong tea and a plate with two sandwiches and two sweets, unwrapped, appear on my table. I notice the careful selection: slices of ham, a little bit of cheese, some tomato, a few oliveswhatever was to hand, arranged on fresh bread. The sweets are unwrapped so I neednt fuss with wrappers. And in this quiet little gesture, my flat seems to overflow with loving words, though not a one was spoken.
In that moment, I realiseright now, there is no surer way to say I love you.
Its importantthis ability to say I love you without actual words.
With a home-cooked meal or a freshly ironed shirt, with celebratory balloons or a carefully chosen doll, with a well-timed cuddle for the cat, or a blanket tucked in on a chilly evening, with an umbrella held over your head or crumpets shaped like bunnies, with likes and hearts, with glances and smiles.
It doesnt matter if youre listening to a debate about the budget or a rant about last nights missed goalthe important thing is how you listen.
It doesnt matter if youre sipping fine wine or a takeaway coffeethe real question is, whos sharing it with you, and what is the mood between you?
Whether youre wandering the lamp-lit streets of London or strolling past golden sunflowers in Sussex, what matters most is whos walking by your side.
Lets not forget: the words I love you, while dazzling, tender, and dearly longed-for, lose their meaning if not matched by acts of care and kindness. We mustnt let that happen.
Love can never be measured by words alone. Its the smallest, everyday gestures that often last longest in our hearts.
