“My type
“I want to match you with someone,” my mother said. I immediately doubted. “A friend’s son?” I have asked. She paused, then said, “I’ve done something bad.” Much to my horror, she created a JDate account, pretending to be me. “I just wanted to find you someone to run with,” she said. Curiosity won: “My” profile was hair-raising, but the runner who wanted to meet “me” wasn’t that bad. After confessing my mother’s misdeeds, we met. He was my mother’s type, not mine. I rewrote my profile. The next man made me laugh. We’ve been walking together since 2002. — Rebecca Robboy
‘Laughing as if she were alive’
Whenever I visit my grandfather in Louisiana, a naive glimmer of hope expects in me to see my grandmother, who died when I was 14. She died before I passed on, not knowing that her only grandchild was really her granddaughter. She collected Japanese beckoning cats. I recently found one and put it snugly among the others on my grandparents’ mantelpiece. They will beckon her forever. Yet my grandmother often comes to me in dreams, dressed in a vest and smiling as if she were in life. In a recent dream she called me by my name: Vitoria. I woke up, crying, convinced she saw me. † Vitoria Perez
Near-Twin Telepathy
My brother Will, who can fix anything, always carries a pocket knife with him. I’m four years older, but we share a bit of twin telepathy. He is a devoted, beloved uncle, even though he doesn’t often attend my children’s school or sporting events. Weeks after my marriage collapsed, I dragged myself to my son’s baseball game. With some social battle lines already drawn, I sat alone, withering inside. In the bottom of the first inning, someone surprised me by taking the adjacent seat. Will didn’t say a word. He just put his big, strong arm around my shoulders. † Natalie Moore Brandt
Join the Circus
Falling in love seemed crazy at my advanced age. Except Bernie made me shiver with delight. His hobby was circus history. My first thought: “Strange.” Still, I walked down creaky basement stairs to admire his miniature circus parade. As the weeks passed pleasantly, I went with him to model circus exhibits. I have coffee for him. Chat with anyone who wanted to talk about circus history. Even co-authored a book on historic buildings with him. Now my mind enjoys memories. Bernie died unexpectedly. I think of the exciting times we shared, our unexpected love. Life is a circus. † Mary Bowman-Kruhm