Love In Pieces

Digital art collage by Stella Kalaw

The dictionary describes love with words like warmth, endearment, fondness, compassion, concern, caring, goodwill and fellow feeling.

When I was without a spouse, children or extended family, I wondered how I could possibly generate those feelings while living alone. I noticed that some of my friends and acquaintances were a little low on those experiences as well, when they had outlived their spouses and friends, or their children and grandchildren had moved away.

Living alone people often said things like, “Well, your friends are your family now.” But that wasn’t my experience. I quickly realized that Sex and the City was just a television show. Three friends didn’t arrive with martinis every time I needed to chat, needed a distraction or just didn’t want to be alone. Although, I really wish they did sometimes!

Truth was that most of my friends and colleagues were busy with their own schedules, tending to their families and spouses or going through a bumpy time themselves.

But on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, much to my surprise, I walked into my apartment and found myself grinning and feeling pretty great about life. In fact, I was feeling endearment, fondness, compassion, concern, caring, goodwill and fellow feeling, and I knew why: I shared a few laughs and smiles with different acquaintances and strangers throughout the day.

Okay, so it wasn’t the sweeping love of fairytales and romcoms: it was love in pieces. But when I had a steady supply of pieces from different sources, it changed things for me.

I got pieces from the guys at work who gathered around my office and teased me about buying two coffees at once.

I got pieces from Elie and Jeannette, the older Lebanese couple who owned the corner store down the street from where I lived and who offered me their glorious, homemade Lebanese food whenever I walked in while they were eating.

I got pieces from the two cats across the hall who sat outside my neighbour’s door in the morning and seemed to watch me take the elevator after I petted them and waved goodbye.

I got pieces from Adam, Eric, Vivian, Suja and all the passing tenants in my apartment building who stopped for a smile and a chat in the lobby.

I got pieces from Tony, the man who trained me in my current contract job and then left for another job, but who always gave me a big smile when I saw him on the same bus in the morning.

I got pieces from my dentist, who’s known me since I was a kid, and almost always told me very funny stories when my mouth was clamped open and I couldn’t laugh properly.

I got pieces from my coffee shop friends, Don and twin sisters Joanne and Deborah. Almost every day, I knew where to find each of them: sitting in their same spots and always greeting me with a warm hug and a welcoming smile to sit down and have a chin wag.

I got pieces from my old friend Perry, who lived far away and had multiple sclerosis, but still managed with all his painful, physical struggles to chat with me for twenty minutes every week. We always ended the call with “I love you.”

I got pieces from friends on Facebook who dropped a quick line or text sometimes, and old, special friends who I see once in a while and who keep staying in my life, as the years went by.

On good days, I noticed each piece. On bad days, I didn’t see the pieces at all.

But my sensations on that sunny Tuesday taught me that if I ever felt bereft of love, noticing, giving and getting those pieces could build a fortress in the shape of a heart around me, and they could protect me somehow. They could protect me from the thinking that I didn’t matter to anyone, and I wouldn’t find love.

Instead, they reminded me that I do matter to some people, and love is out there all the time: it’s just love in pieces.