Tiny Love Stories: ‘I missed my kids, but I needed my mother’
carrying me through
In the winter of my 40th year, I was diagnosed with cancer that required major surgery. I packed my hospital bag and kissed my husband, toddler, and baby goodbye. While there, a Canadian storm pelted the area with all possible precipitation. The roads were treacherous, but my mother came storming in as if by magic. She made a bed out of a hard sofa and called it her place. I missed my kids, but I needed my mom, and she was there. Thank you, Mama, for carrying me through the winter storm into spring: I heal while the flowers bloom. — Anne-Marie Linen
Italian cheat sheet
Since we live in different countries, we shared a file together at work. I have saved simple Italian words in it. I chose them carefully, as if they were all loved. She picked them up sometimes, to say hello, to say hello. One weekend my best friend asked me, “Why don’t you type her ‘mi piaci’?” (“I like you”). I lacked courage, but finally sent her a love message. For a long time I waited for her words to return to me. I never heard anything again. I haven’t been brave enough to open that file again. — Sarah Cipullo
A renewal of vows (sort of)
Nearly eight years after saying yes to my husband, I said yes to him again. This time it was a “yes” to uprooting our lives in Los Angeles to move to Albuquerque. The honeymoon phase had long since come and gone; we knew each other better and more sincere than when we first said yes, but we still wanted more. It made this second connection with each other so much richer, so much more real. Nothing says “I’ll do it again” like choosing to leave everything and everyone behind to start all over again with the one you love. — Diahann Reyes Lane
A sculpture of a mother and her sons
Sometimes I dream of the days when they are gone and I will be free. No more cutting hair and nails or the crusts of their sandwiches. I often start daydreaming when my sons both yell at me. “Don’t yell at me!” I break. “I cut off your scabs!” But when they crawl into my bed early in the morning and push their little bodies against mine (one on each side), I wish time would stop. For a moment, the three of us are a sculpture carved out of the same smooth stone. Perfectly made, without hard edges. — Anna Sullivan