Michael’s Concentric Circles
Eleven days ago, a log-splitting accident landed me in the E.R. Before medicine broke pain’s tedious hold, self-pity moved in: I was both emotionally and physically injured. The cheerful nurse called me “sister,” joking about her clumsy boyfriend. “My boyfriend died,” I replied. When I asked her to use my nickname, J.Q., she bent to my eye level, paused and said, “I know you. I knew Michael.” Turns out, there were intersecting circles of friends. That changed everything. It was just like Michael, still bringing me calm and comfort, making me smile, despite his fatal heart attack. Love never dies. — Jeanne McSorley
My Turn
When divorce crushed the stability of my childhood, I still had Grandpa Bernie. As an infant he steadied my tiny hands when I learned to walk, letting go when I was ready. Later, he gave me comfort when I had a nightmare and I learned to ride a bike at home in Atlanta. Now with dementia at 88, Grandpa forgets my name. Sometimes he forgets me. But when I take his arm and guide his frail steps, I remember for both of us: who he was, who he still is. The man who never let me fall. My turn now. — Iris Wickham
I Love You All
I loved you well before we ever met. I wore our first Halloween costume, a pregnant skeleton jumper, at our appointment. I held my breath waiting to hear your heartbeat again. But there was nothing to hear. Your body didn’t grow, although my love did. I took off the costume, carefully folding it. I cried for a while, then gathered up courage and started over, again. After my fifth pregnancy loss, my hope was bruised but not my love. This year, my love for you nearly overwhelms me as I pull a matching Halloween shirt over your sister Poppy’s head. — Liz Connors
A Memory of Lights
1985, Mumbai. The hot oil splutters as the woman fries the diamond-shaped shankarpali. The little girl who lovingly calls her “Aai” (mother) nibbles them warm from the frying pan and nods approval. “Make some extra for me to take home!” the girl begs. Forty years on, my daughter nibbles the Diwali goodies I’ve made, reaching out for seconds, though she is determined not to like “Indian sweets.” The crisp savory chivda, sweet shankarpali and melt-in-the-mouth laddoo beckon. As I watch my girl, my thoughts fly back to Aai. Cooking was her love language. And this Diwali, it is mine. — Aarti Narayan
See more Tiny Love Stories at nytimes.com/modernlove. Submit yours at nytimes.com/tinylovestories.
Want more from Modern Love? Watch the TV series; sign up for the newsletter; or listen to the podcast on iTunes, Spotify or Google Play. We also have swag at the NYT Store and two books, “Modern Love: True Stories of Love, Loss, and Redemption” and “Tiny Love Stories: True Tales of Love in 100 Words or Less.”
The post Tiny Love Stories: ‘That Changed Everything’ appeared first on New York Times.
