Real Love: No Conditions

Love is often measured in grand gestures, but sometimes, its truest form is found in the quiet, unwavering acts of care. It’s not about perfection or reciprocation—it’s about showing up, no matter what. Looking back, I see now that my mother’s love was just that: unconditional, constant, and quietly powerful.

In the final days of summer 1998, I was permanently separated from Prince Charming—the love of my life and the man who had once held the magic to make all my dreams come true. Our separation wasn’t sudden. It was the result of unmet expectations, hurtful choices, and an inability to forgive that hit us both like a punch to the face.

By the fall of 2000, I was ready to forge ahead on a new path. I had chosen a new career and was finishing a second bachelor's degree in secondary and special education. To make it all work, I had to move to a town that knew real winters—the kind with ice-covered roads and freezing winds.

Not Meant to Be

Money had been tight during my marriage and things hadn’t improved much as I struggled to support myself and my four growing children. A proper winter coat hadn’t been a priority in years. In fact, the last one I’d owned was a WWII U.S. Army-issued trench coat my then-fiancé had given me during my third year of college. That thing must have weighed 20 pounds.

I am the second of eight children. My mom, a successful businesswoman, was well into her hectic career when she heard I was moving to a city with brutal winters. She insisted I needed a warm coat. I told her I would be fine, but she wouldn’t hear it.

There was no online shopping then, so I picked a coat suitable for a classy school teacher from the Chadwick’s of Boston catalog. It was a long, tailored wool coat on sale for $99. My mom had her own copy of the catalog, and over the phone, I told her exactly which one I wanted. She placed the order and had it shipped to my new address.

The coat came in black, camel, or red. My mother and I had an ongoing disagreement about color. She was born in 1944, and to her, red was a color worn by women who lived rough lives. She preferred teal and aqua, colors that, to me, looked like the tiled, windowless shower rooms in public pools—the kind of places where serial killers lurk.

After some discussion, we settled on camel. Black collects lint, and red wasn’t even worth suggesting.

By mid-December, the coat still hadn’t arrived. We gave up on it.

Unconditional Love in Action

Determined that I would not go through winter without a suitable coat, my mom drove nearly two hours to my town and dragged me to the most expensive department store. I agreed to look—but only at the sale rack.

That’s when she found it. A long, black-and-gray, Anastasia-style wool coat with a cozy shawl collar and a flared skirt. I felt like a real princess when I tried it on. It was perfect.

Then I saw the price tag.

$199. That’s one hundred ninety-nine real dollars.

From my point of view, in the year 2000, that was a fortune. I put the coat back and walked out of the store.

My mother bought it anyway.

She gave me a lecture about honoring myself. She told me about the time she lived in Fairbanks, Alaska, right after getting married, and how she had splurged on a bright blue, fur-lined parka she couldn’t afford.

“Sometimes,” she said, “you have to go all in.”

Then she added something even more important—something that would stay with me for years.

“You have to let others help you. Learn to accept gifts with grace.”

The following summer, my youngest brother and I were living at opposite ends of the same apartment complex in the small university town. He had just graduated and was getting ready to move when his wife called me.

They had married shortly before moving into the apartment, and the wedding gifts kept coming. She confessed that she had started stacking unopened boxes in the spare bedroom, overwhelmed by it all. They had been accumulating and collecting dust for over a year.

While packing, she found one addressed to me. It had my maiden name on it and was from Chadwick’s of Boston. The postal carrier must have recognized our unusual last name and assumed the package belonged to my brother.

Sure enough, inside was the coat my mother had ordered months earlier.

It was red.

To this day, I still feel happiness bubble up inside when I think about her unwavering love.

Signs of Unconditional Love

Unconditional love isn’t always about words—it’s about actions. It’s the way someone shows up, even when you don’t ask. It’s the quiet sacrifices made, the gentle lessons taught, and the unwavering belief in your worth. My mother showed me all of these things in ways big and small. The coats were just one example of the love she gave so freely.

She didn’t let me settle for less than I deserved. She reminded me that sometimes, we need to go all in for ourselves. And when that’s not possible, we need to let others help us, just as we would help them.

Real love—the kind that doesn’t come with conditions—lasts beyond a lifetime. I see it now in the way I am willing to show up for my own children. I see it in the way I remember her, not just in the grand gestures, but in the small, everyday acts of kindness that shaped me into who I am. That, more than anything, is the greatest sign of unconditional love.

In the end, she had given me more than warmth—she had given me proof that love, real love, doesn’t come with conditions.