When my mother succumbed to metastatic cancer in 2023, people close to me held me in little ways that left a big impression – big because I still think about them in the present. It has been over a year since then, yet I find myself thinking about those moments.

A cousin sister helped me pick wild flowers for my mother at her funeral. As children, my mother and her siblings followed a tradition of picking wild flowers and arranging them in repurposed bottles at home. My mother let me in on this little tradition a few weeks before she passed away, which made me wonder why she never spoke about it before, but I knew it was very important information. My cousin understood the importance of this anecdote, so she helped me pick little yellow wild daisies. Amidst all the beautiful bouquets and wreaths of flowers, that small bunch held a special place in my heart. That special place was now shared between my cousin, my mother and me.

In another instance, as I sat beside my mother’s still body, I noticed a big wreath with yellow flowers and a little note attached to it. The note read: “Rest in Peace Aunty, Love E.” E lives countries away from me but she still thought of ways to express empathy through whatever means possible and she did it in the most gentle and meaningful way she could. It felt like my hands were held tenderly from miles apart.

On the same day, hours later, a close friend of mine stood up as I entered the living room. She had her arms stretched out and I melted into them. This moment was special not just because it was a hug that is expected in situations similar but because typically, we would not express affection through hugs. Words, yes. Hugs? No. She sobbed as she held me close. She held me.

Losing my mother, sitting through the moments at her funeral – of her slowly getting taken away to be buried in the dust, was painful and big. But little expressions of empathy made the experience less lonely. Like my grief was being held, like I was being held with my pain and my big big grief.

Carah Bimikchu M. Sangma, 26, is a Development Associate from Tura, Meghalaya, with a keen interest in social systems, women’s mental health and identity.

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We’ve grown up hearing that “it’s the small things” that matter. That’s true, of course, but it’s also not – there are Big Things that we know matter, and that we shouldn’t take our eyes, minds or hearts off of. As journalists, we spend most of our time looking at those Big Things, trying to understand them, break them down, and bring them to you.

And now we’re looking to you to also think about the small things – the joy that comes from a strangers’ kindness, incidents that leave you feeling warm, an unexpected conversation that made you happy, finding spaces of solidarity. Write to us about your small things at thewiresmallthings@gmail.com in 800 words or less, and we will publish selected submissions. We look forward to reading about your experiences, because even small things can bring big joys.

Read the series here.

This article went live on August ninth, two thousand twenty five, at one minutes past nine in the morning.

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