All Those Notes

My daughter, age 44, has died. One thing I’ve learned from this hideous experience is that all those sympathy notes I’ve written over these many years did matter, because the ones I’ve received have to me. The other is that the words “loving” and “beloved” are the meaning of life. — Andrea Tebbets

Avoiding a Life of Regret

Age, education, work, language, culture, nationality — our differences were daunting. The quiet asides and raised eyebrows from friends and family summarized their certainty that my affections were a misdirected midlife crisis. Yet when Lobzang smiled or made a joke only to see me laugh, my heart filled with unmistakable joy. A life of regrets? A future littered with what-ifs? That is not the path we have chosen. Raised eyebrows ignored. Differences be damned. — Catie Lott

Freshly Picked Cherries

When Patrick was 8, Anne was wheelchair bound, often staring blankly — into the past, perhaps. Words were labored, few. Undaunted, he tagged along for visits. One afternoon, he carried a small paper sack of freshly picked cherries. Her gaze settled on him and then slid to the bag. “Want one?” Patrick asked. A smile nearly formed on her lips as he removed the pit and lifted a single cherry into her slack mouth. When she began to chew slowly, his face bloomed. “Grandma Anne,” he said, reaching back into his sack, “How about another?” — Mary Birchenough

Clarity After the Cave

On Christmas, I drank ayahuasca in a Peruvian cave to determine whether I should adopt a stranger’s embryo. With seven failed I.V.F. treatments, bad eggs and no partner, I wanted to outsource my decision to this plant medicine. The medicine sent a snake. Enormous, green, shimmering. I bent down and stroked its scales. That was it — no revelation, no answer. Just an imaginary snake, real vomit and two shamans who thought Western medicine had failed me. It had. But so did the snake. I’m doing the embryo adoption anyway. It’s my decision. It always was. — Sadie Scotch

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