Me and my wife, Ellie Jane.
Married Marines
We locked eyes across a crowded room. He was handsome in his military uniform; I was self-conscious in mine. Colleagues at first, he earned my respect, friendship and, finally, my heart and life. Years later, he faded away and she appeared. We picked out a new name for her and shared wardrobes, sorrows and joys — and passion, as I fell in love with her graceful curves. I was mesmerized by the way she moved, black curls tumbling over her shoulders. My husband gone, now my wife holds my whole heart in her hands. — Jacqueline Keavney Lader
An annoying pre-date screening question.
“Are You Sure He Was Boring?”
Five years of online dating. Countless dates. Zero butterflies. Zero boyfriends. Definitely zero husbands. So close to finding love, they say. You never know, they say. Don’t judge him by his looks; you should give his personality a chance. Are you sure he was boring? Maybe he was just having an off day. Countless excuses. Zero accountability. Zero consistency. Definitely zero expectations. The current state of dating for 30-something women: Oh, you haven’t found love yet? You aren’t looking hard enough. — Shruti Gupta
Heads close together in Rome.
Off the Curb
I had been kicked to the curb at 52. Took that as an omen. No more love for me and no point even looking. Then I sat down at a New Year’s Eve party in the only empty chair in the room, a guy sitting beside me. Struck up a conversation, which was only polite, about our children — heads close together, given the noise. We have been talking now for 10 years, heads close together. Lesson learned: Be open. — Susan Lightstone
A therapy room at my clinic.
No Such Thing as Effortless
My best friend and I started dating in high school. For six years we cycled through breakups and reconciliations, and were brought back together by a mutual need for security. Our identities were so wrapped up in our relationship that we couldn’t bear to imagine ourselves alone. She wanted therapy. I demurred, hung up on the seeming effortlessness of “good” relationships. So she broke things off, for good. Today, I’m a couple’s therapist. The only thing more potent than this irony is my hope that our story isn’t over yet. — Jacob Wollinger
My mother and my daughter.
“Holiest of Communions”
She no longer wore her thick glasses, her eyes watery and unsure. She could no longer feed herself. When we visited, my son, Mathias, fed her puréed vegetables a spoonful at a time. My tiny daughter, Christina, watched, then squeezed in between her brother and her grandma. First, Christina planted a kiss, the noisy, juicy kind Grandma used to give her. They giggled. Then Christina tore off a piece of soft bread and placed it on her grandma’s tongue. Ma accepted it and swallowed. The sadness lifted. For me, it was the holiest of communions. — Joyce Simon
