A poem in my pocket
As I was walking home, I stopped in front of a hired poet and told him I had eggs extracted from my ovaries to have a child I will never meet. I expected him to be shocked, but he had just learned that his mother has other children, so he kind of understood. He sees strangers with her dimples in the train and marvels. To the child I introduce myself: I tried to do something useful, but I also tried to create strangers whose faces I might recognize on the train. I’ve saved the poem in case you’re one of them one day. — Kathryn Phelan
To please a woman
Minh says it’s hard for me to buy gifts. Still, every day I expect him to come home with small offerings: cookies wrapped in napkins sneaked out of the faculty workshops, a bottle of disinfectant, a ChapStick from a job fair. When Minh gives bigger gifts, he often confuses the holidays. Between the Christmas presents? A “Most Beautiful Mother” button. For my birthday? Books and an eraser in the shape of a pumpkin. Next year will be our 25th anniversary. I’ll pretend to chuckle as I unwrap each present. Then smile. It is not easy to satisfy a woman who is already satisfied, a woman who can give the best life. — Nhi Huynha
Paradise, reclaimed
A house with two flats, my grandparents’ little “paradise” in bustling Chicago, spawned generations of our family. But when my grandmother turned 94, it became too much for her to live there alone. I was distraught when she died three weeks after we took her from her beloved home. Near the sixth anniversary of her death, my mother and I drove by the house to see it. Surprisingly, there was a “for rent” sign in the front lawn. Now I wake up there every morning, look at my grandmother’s picture on the wall and tell her, “We’ve come home.” — Kathryn Jaslikowski
Worth the wait
Jim was a striking combination of three friends I had a crush on, all of whom were straight. Luckily Jim was gay and we shared a mutual friend who introduced us 42 years ago. It took Jim a moment to realize that I wanted to love him. I persisted until he reciprocated my feelings. We have partnered and married. When Jim became ill, I took care of him for six years, his eyes shining, but his body becoming a shadow. Now I’m on my own again, looking not for a duplicate of Jim, but for a supplement. It’s tough at 77! To persevere. — Gil Narro Garcia
