The Thought That Counts

Sometimes, in my classes, I encourage people to write letters.

Letters to be opened after they die. Letters that tell the people they love one last time just how much they mattered. Sometimes I suggest writing a letter before death instead. A letter that offers forgiveness. A letter that heals an old wound. Or maybe simply a letter that says, “I was thinking about you.”

But before anyone ever puts pen to paper, I often ask one question. Why are you writing it?

It seems like such a simple question, but it reaches far beyond letters.

Why do we give gifts?

Why do we send cards?

Why do we offer our time?

Why do we do something kind for another person?

If we are honest, sometimes hidden beneath our kindness is a quiet hope that it will be returned. Maybe not in the same way, but somehow. We hope they will appreciate it. We hope they will say “thank you.” We hope they will understand how much thought went into it. We hope they will feel what we hoped they would feel.

There is nothing wrong with wanting to be appreciated. We are human. But kindness becomes something different when it quietly carries an expectation.

Recently, I planned a special afternoon for someone I love dearly. He is an older gentleman who has become family to me over the years. His health is declining, and I know our time together is becoming shorter.

Years ago, he loved getting dressed up, going to beautiful places, listening to live music, enjoying a glass of wine. I wanted to give him a little piece of that life again.

I bought tickets to an outdoor concert. I spent the afternoon making charcuterie trays so everything would feel just a little bit special. I imagined us listening to music, sharing good food, laughing together.

Instead…

Everything seemed to go wrong. He didn’t want to use a wheelchair, but the walk frustrated him. The wind annoyed him. He didn’t like the music. He didn’t like the food I prepared.

The only thing he enjoyed were the french fries I bought him afterward.

After thirteen minutes, he wanted to leave. Thirteen minutes.

I smiled. I packed everything up. I took him home.

And then I cried.

Not where anyone could see me.

Just quietly on the drive home.

“I just wanted to do something nice for him,” I said to myself.

Then another voice quietly interrupted my sadness, one I have shared with so many other people.

Did you do this for him… or did you do it for yourself?

That question stopped me, because if I had done it simply out of love, then love had already done its job.

The afternoon didn’t need to look the way I imagined for it to matter.

The truth was, I had unknowingly made the success of the day dependent on his response.

But he isn’t the man he was thirty years ago. His body has changed. His energy has changed. Even the things that once brought him joy have changed.

I wasn’t loving the person standing in front of me. I was loving the memory of who he used to be.

The moment I realized that, something inside me softened. I wouldn’t change a single thing.

I loved searching for the tickets.

I loved putting together the food.

I loved seeing him dressed and ready to go.

I even loved those thirteen minutes.

Kindness doesn’t lose its value simply because it isn’t received the way we hoped.

Sometimes the gift is simply that we were able to give it.

As people decline, they don’t just lose strength. Sometimes they lose the ability to enjoy the very things that once made them feel most alive.

That isn’t rejection. It’s grief.

Their grief.

And if we are not careful, we can accidentally make it about our own.

Now, my disappointment has been replaced with gratitude.

Gratitude that our lives found each other.

Gratitude that I still had one more afternoon with him, even if it wasn’t the afternoon I had imagined.

Gratitude that I was able to love someone without needing anything in return.

Maybe that’s what kindness really is…

Not giving because we are certain it will be appreciated.

Not giving because we are hoping for gratitude.

Not giving because we expect anything back.

Simply giving because love asked us to.

And perhaps, in the end… it truly is the thought that counts. Maybe the thought is the gift.

Once I was able to get to that place in my heart, I made peace with all of it. Love doesn’t become less meaningful simply because it isn’t received the way we hoped.

xo

Gabby