Misha’s Raspberry Syrup

Love tastes like the raspberry syrup Misha handmade the weekend after I was prescribed my first round of antipsychotics. We always went to Michigan to drink, among other things, and I feared that without that ice-cold handle of vodka from the freezer, our fun would be blunted like my brain those first few days on Risperdal. But when I was diagnosed, Misha muddled raspberries over the stove. In Michigan, she crafted us mocktails like the best friend I’d ever had. A movie lulled us to sleep, sober, together, unchanged. — Brittany Merrick

Unexpected News

In our 20s, my boyfriend and I played house in New York City. He was German; I’m Dominican. “Mein schatz,” he called me, my treasure. ​Our contrasting backgrounds were a constant fascination. His visa expired. He returned home. Every six months, we met around the globe. Tired, I proposed settling down. He refused. Heartbroken, I blocked him. At 37, we reconnected through a friend for his “life news” to share. “I had a son,” he said. “I named him after you.” I told him to take care of my name. “He’s a treasure,” he replied, “like you.” — Emillio Mesa

No Need for a Long List

Before my father’s birthday, I sat with my mother, a five-year dementia veteran, helping her write a birthday card. I suggested we make a list of the things she appreciated about him. Nice hair, silly jokes, the dependable hits. But when I got to No. 6, she cut me off with a small wave of her hand and said, “That’s enough, I think.” Five good things, apparently, was her limit. I chuckled. In the remaining space, she told me to write “I will always love you,” a truth that needed no elaboration. — Annalise Inamine

Between Past and Present

Sitting in a stadium row between my past and present, I keenly sense two realities. My former husband, father of my four children, on my left and my current dear husband of 28 years on my right. My ex and I are the patriarch and matriarch of the tribe, attending our grandson’s graduation. Our relationship is ancient history to our children and completely unknown to our grandchildren, yet it was everything for 22 years. A wise friend warned me about divorce and parenting back then. With children, it’s never really over. We act accordingly. — Micki McWade

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