Calling Mom.

Dialing that familiar number, the one we’ve known by heart since we were knee-high to a grasshopper. It’s a small act, really, punching in digits that connect us across miles, through wires and invisible signals, to a voice that has been there since the very beginning.


That word, uttered in the unique timbre that belongs only to her. It’s a voice that has scolded, comforted, and chuckled over the years. 

What to talk about? Sometimes it’s the mundane, the trivial details of daily life.

“I finally tried that new laundry detergent you recommended,” or “Guess who I ran into at the grocery store?”

But beneath the surface of these seemingly inconsequential exchanges lies something far more significant. There’s a comfort in the familiar cadence of her speech, the laughter shared over old inside jokes, and the way she can read between the lines, hearing not just what’s said but also what’s left unsaid.

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