A Sweetheart Reminder on Valentine’s Day

“Hello?” Mom repeated into the phone. The caller began singing his college fraternity song. It had been almost 70 years since she was crowned Alpha Phi Alpha’s “Sweetheart” at Howard University. Widowed and living alone, Mom couldn’t place the song and had forgotten it was Valentine’s Day. Dinner dishes sat in the sink. News blared from the T.V. He sang into the second stanza before she remembered those “Sweetheart” years when she felt revered and cherished. Mom finally recognized her friend’s voice. He said he was blind now. “You can still carry a tune,” she replied, smiling. I smiled too. — Lisa Argrette Ahmad

Navigating Being Gay, on His Own

Ever since he was 3, my son knew what makeup I should wear and what clothes looked good on me. At 13, he put a four-page letter under my door, ran into his room and sobbed. I accepted his being gay and thought that was enough. In the middle of a post-divorce breakdown, I was checked out when I should’ve been all in. He was left to grow into himself on his own. I’m still trying to forgive myself for not being the ally he needed then, but our tight bond today shows he’s forgiven me for being a work-in-progress. — Stacey Powells Lyster

Solace in My Grandma’s Breath

As a child, I slept on the foldout couch in Abuelita’s bedroom. I’d lie perfectly still, listening to her breathing. Making sure she was still alive. Waiting to know it was safe to sleep. The candle flame in the corner of her room created shadows of imaginary demons, capering toward me. Her breath always cast them away. The sound of neighbors’ distant yells, smashed glass and slammed doors would roll through the corridors and crash on my chest like waves. Her breath pulled out the tide. Even in the deepest sleep, Abuelita created a space where we could share peace. — Tabitha Diaz

Nearing a Year

Since we broke up I have cut my bangs, celebrated a birthday and most major holidays, gone to Maine, restored a fireplace, mourned my brother, held my dog as she died, started drinking tea, gained some weight, knit a sweater, written poems, found a lump, gone on dates, and missed you every single day. — Anna Iredale

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