Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The Other End of the Line


A voice at the other end of the line. The phone answered. A reaching out caught in a warm embrace, an embrace of words.

"Hi, Honey. What's up?"

Calls. We make them to share happiness, to share problems, to get advice, to give love. Calls we make and those we receive. The people we depend on to be at the other end of the line.

"Mom, I'm going with Melissa for coffee."

My children were never told to call home before they went to a different location from where they started, yet they always called to let me know. My children knew if they called, I was always there. They always knew I would care.

Every weekend and often through the week, I talk with my sisters both far away from me. When the phone buzzes and I see the name cross the screen, I set aside all else and focus on my sisters. The voices at the other end of the line, those voices that have traveled with me over the years, are welcomed and cherished.

Text:  Hi.

My text: Hi.

Text: Where are you?

My text: Picking up your sister.

Text: K

Nothing important. Sydney, my granddaughter, is on the bus and bored. She is just checking in with her grandma.

Calls in the middle of the night from a child in college needing a listening ear. Calls from a child caught up in emotion. Calls from a sick child. Calls with exciting news. We get them. all make them.

"Mom, I just wanted to hear your voice," I said trying not to cry.

My mother was in a care home. These were the last words I would say to her. How I wish I could say them again.

A simple call says it all.

"I love you, Mom."

"Oh, Honey, I love you, too."

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