I love the movie “Love Actually.” Particularly the opening scene in the international arrivals terminal at Heathrow. It may be a professional bias. It may be because I am in an airport twice a week every week. It may because I spend the majority of time on the departures side of the airport, and have arrivals greeting envy.

There is love, actually, on the departures side of the airport. It’s just brief. And rushed. And consistently disproportionate to that on the arrivals side. Sort of like the physical manifestation of the eight hotdog bun pack living in a 10 hotdog pack world.

And it’s understandably so. On the departures side, one person is getting on a plane…leaving…and one person is not. I saw a goodbye last week where the wife set her bags down and was reaching in for a warm embrace. And she got a cold fish, alligator arms, kiss in return. He was in the car driving away before she left the curbside.

I dropped my middle daughter at O’Hare this week for a school trip to Europe. Her second in the last three years. (Remember when you went to Europe twice in high school? Yeah, me neither.)

Upon meeting her group, it was clear she could not wait for me to leave. “Mom, there are no other parents in line with us, you need to go,” she told me.

“Is it my fault that I love you more than all the other parents love their kids?” I asked.

“It’s true, Liv,” another friend who overhears us offers. “My dad dropped me off outside and said ‘good luck’ so be happy your mom at least walked you inside.”

I leave the line, passing another group where one girl says to another, “I can’t believe my mom was crying. I was like, ‘why are you crying?’ ”

I did not offer my answer. But here is what I said to her in my head: She was crying because despite your teenage awfulness, and sounding like an extra in “Valley Girl” she probably still checks on you while you are sleeping to make sure you are breathing. Like she did when you were a baby. And yes, she has probably done that for 17 years.

She probably also saw “Taken.” And she is probably not married to Liam Neeson. So that’s problematic.

Being the one to leave the airport, and not the one to take off in a plane from the airport, is hard. It’s why I, much like Billy Crystal’s character in “When Harry Met Sally,” never drive anyone to the airport.

I did, of course, make an exception for dropping my daughter off for her European tour. And while I was so happy for the adventure she is going to have, I was sad as I was not going to see Barcelona and Nice and Rome with her.

Until then, I have that international arrivals “Love Actually” moment to look forward to. In about nine days. But who is counting?