My husbands cousin has come to visit.
Perhaps Im a bit old-fashionedmaybe things are different nowadays, but I just cant believe it.
My mum never taught meWhen you go to see relatives, remember to bring a gift She never said anything like that. Yet, instinctively, its always felt obvious to me, almost as simple as knowing two plus two is four. Im not quite sure where it comes frommaybe its from books Ive read, films Ive watched, or perhaps from plays.
This Saturday, my husbands cousin came to see us. Hes come because of his uncles funeralbut its not on our side of the family.
We were asked in advance, and of course, we said they could stay the night, not to worry about hotels or anything.
They turned up in the evening, three of themhis cousin, their son and daughter-in-law. I cooked dinner, roasted a whole tray of meat, made salads, the lot. We sat down for a toast to catching upits been ages since we last saw one another. Afterwards, I sorted out beds for everyone, and in the morning made breakfastsandwiches, tea, coffee.
Then they set off for the funeral, came back for a short while, had a sit down, and then were on their way home.
Everything seemed quite normal. But you know, they arrived empty-handed; not even a bottle of wine.
My husbands fatherwhos passed away nowwas his cousins godfather, and his widow, my mother-in-law, lives with us. The cousin knows this very well. For heavens sake, were not struggling for money, but he could have at least brought a box of chocolates for the older lady. She was hoping for something, watching out of the window all Saturday. She even shed a tear, she was so moved to see them.
Thats something I would have done.
Firstly, Id have brought along a few drinksnot just a bottle or two. The children and the elderly would have got some nice sweets, and I would have chosen a little keepsake for everyone. Id have thought about what might make a good present.
Oh, and Id have brought my own bedding too, just not to put anyone out.
Theyre not short of money, so I wouldnt be upset otherwise. This cousin hardly ever visits, but whenever he does, he always turns up empty-handed. One time he was sent here for work, arrived on a Sunday evening, and left again on Mondayonce again, nothing at all brought with him.
All the while, he just talked to me about his fishinghow many he caught, what kind they were. Id have been delighted if hed simply brought me just one fish.
Its not that I begrudge the food I prepare for guests, but honestly, it leaves me feeling rather awkward. I cant help but feel a bit taken for granted.
And in truth, it seems to be like this every single timeBut after theyd gone, and the house was quiet except for the ticking clock and the slow, contented breathing of my mother-in-law napping on her armchair, I stood in the kitchen looking at empty plates and mugs still warm with the echo of their visit. Maybe some people are simply built differently: they walk in, stay, and leave, without noticing the subtle exchanges that make a house a home.
Still, as I washed the last glass, I caught myself humminga tune my own mother used to sing while tidying up after guests. I remembered her hands, swift and capable, always putting things right, never once mentioning what was or was not brought into her house. I realized then, the warmth that lingered in the air after our visitors had left was something only a host could understand.
Its not what comes through your door wrapped in ribbons or glossy paper. Sometimes, its the memory of laughter that clatters across the dinner table, or the way old stories put shine in tired eyeseven if for a moment. Perhaps thats the real gift, quietly left behind.
So I finished the dishes, straightened up, and thought: next time, when its my turn to visit, Ill simply do as I always havebring a little something, and a lot of heart. Maybe what really matters isnt what arrives, but what remains after the door has closed.
