Calling Mom Home
I call my mom once a year, on the day she died. Five times I have pulled up “Mom Home” in my contacts. Five times I have pressed the phone icon. Five times she has never picked up.
I haven’t given her much time. I tap the red disconnect button as soon as I hear the first ring. “Call ended” flashes across the screen, and she is gone.
I worry someday someone will answer. Someone who is not my mom. Someone whose number this is now. That someone might call back, ask who this is anyway.
I would tell them.
Photo Credit: Susan
This story is super I liked it and I love my mom ,pic ur mom’s call don’t forget it.
Lovely story.
Always pick up your mom call
Pick up your mom’s calls!
Beautiful essay.
Moral: Always pick up when your mom calls.
I loved this Cynthia. What a wonderful closing line, revealing another avenue for perpetuating the memory.
Close to home. I’ve called more than once in these almost ten years. I feel the love and hope of hearing my father’s sweet loving voice. By the second eternal ring, the silence reminds me of the pain, the tears roll down as if they could never end, the words “It’s my father. You have to be strong” ring through my body, filling it with the past, the present…and then I hang up.
Thank you for writing and sharing!
Thank you for writing and sharing too, Celith. You have captured the hope and the helplessness and the search for connection in your story as well. Take care.
Just wanted to say that i have enjoyed this story. I LOVE IT
Thank you for reading and for writing, Shreya.
Thank you, Beth, for such a tender reminder.
Thank you so much, Heather
just wanted to say that I’ve enjoyed this touching piece.
Thank you for reading, Toni, and for these kind words.
)))pangs((( Love this, Beth.
Thank you, Janel, for reading and re-tweeting!
This is stunning. It fuses the worlds of the real and the imaginary. This is where each of us lives.
Thank you so much, Mariann.
How does one fit all this emotional resonance in 100 words? Fantastic.
Thank you, Elizabeth.
Lovely. I called my dad several times after he died and had similar thoughts. As now, my emotions are sttubborn against reason.
My heart is still learning what the head knows. Thank you, Cynthia.