What Would Would Love Do?

Tom used to say it to me.

It came up in ordinary moments. When I was overwhelmed. When I felt stuck. When emotions were running ahead of clarity. He would offer the question gently, almost casually.

What would love do.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it. It simply had a way of slowing me down. It created a pause where there hadn’t been one before. It helped me look at the situation instead of reacting to it.

After Tom died, the question stayed with me.

It started to surface in small, quiet moments. When patience felt thin. When I felt pulled in different directions. When I needed to decide how I wanted to show up. The question didn’t demand an answer. It invited reflection.

Over time, it became something I carried with me. A way to orient myself when things felt heavy or unclear. A reminder that love can be practiced in small choices, again and again.

Sometimes that choice looks like speaking honestly.

Sometimes it looks like letting something rest.

Sometimes it looks like extending care inward.

I still return to the question.

What would love do.