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A little love story: “Who did I rob him of joy?”

“Complex things break,” I warned five years ago when my husband was staring at a plumber’s touch-free toilet. “There is an electromagnetic field,” he said with a smile like a 10-year-old trying to eat a clouded birthday cake. “You can wash it off just by waving.” Who deprived him of joy by claiming an old-fashioned waste removal system? Of course, the lemons were barely washed away and our replacement was stalled by a pandemic supply chain problem. For now, I’m waving like an enthusiastic wizard looking for one receptive spot. I hold “I said so”. Marriage is also complicated. — — Sharon Forman

For thirty years, Jo Ann and I took a walk on Lake Winona, Minnesota on Friday afternoon. We took care of pregnancy and miscarriage, homeopathic school and college tenure, weight watchers and evolving wardrobes, and daughters (and sometimes fathers). And for those 24 years, we walked with JoAnn’s breast cancer. Despite her illness, we planned a trip, a birthday party, a Passover Cedar, Bar Mitzvah, and a daughter’s wedding. In June 2020, we last took a walk around the lake. In February of this year, Jo Ann died. My life is never the same. — — Collet Highman


My man laughed and said, “I was wondering when you would say that.” “It” was always “God, we are very lucky.” I rarely know when to roll. The end of winter at Forest Beach in Chatham. I’m walking by my grandmother’s apartment on Mulberry Street in Chinatown. A few minutes after seeing Dylan at the Beacon Theater. A cafe in Paris in an unforgettable district. And this morning, 16 years after my daughter traveled to Jiangxi, where she first snuggled up to my arm, I was drinking coffee. Now she is a strong young woman. God, we are very lucky. — — Carol Young

Hugs, kisses and praises don’t come to us easily. Our family practices stoic and unspoken love. So how do the three daughters tell their dying mother how much we love her? She is 92 years old. A Google search revealed that Jackie Kennedy, Audrey Hepburn, Princess Grace, and Anne Frank were born in the same year as their mother. On the card with their pictures, we write: Our mother died in peace a few days after her birthday. Without being shy about her, we expressed love. — — Indubara Chandran

A little love story: “Who did I rob him of joy?”

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