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2 days ago
KindaNotSmart
The Daily Call
Growing old is lonely. Iâm 72, and most days, itâs just me and the silence. Children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews - they all loved spending time with me when they were young. But life gets busy, and eventually, they just donât have time for someone old and boring. I get it, I really do.
But not my son. At 33, he never drifted away. He calls me every single day, without fail. Our daily phone call. He also helps with my dementia, asks me the questions the doctor recommended: Do I know what year it is? What country we live in? My name? Age? Address? Itâs supposedly to keep my mÃnd sharp.
Lately, though, somethingâs been off about our calls. Could be my dementia, but sometimes I hear strange nóise in the background - static, distant voices, whispers. He says itâs just a bad connection or blames the TV.
For the past three weeks, my son has been plannıng to visit me. Iâm in Missouri, and heâs out in California, so itâs not easy. But todayâs the day. Heâs on his way. And as always, even though heâs coming to see me, we had our daily call. We went throuÄ£h the usual questions. My name, my age, my address. Then I got aņotheÌ·r call, so I put him on hold.
âMaâam, this is Officer Roberts with the Los Angeles Polıce Department. Iâm sorry to call you like this, but we need to speak with you about your son. Weâve been trying to reach his next of kin.â
âWhatâs going on, Officer? Is he in some kind of trouble?â
There was a pause, like he was choosing his words carefully. âIâm afraid itâs more serious than that. Iâm sorry you have to find out like this, but we just got the testÌ back. Weâre finding out the same time as you. Iâm afraid your sonâs bÞdy was found three weeks ago.â
âNo, thatâs not possible. Iâve been talking to him every day. Heâs on the other line right now - heâs coming to visit me.â
âMaâam, unfortunately itâs true. The DNA test was conclusive. If youâve been talking with anybody, please be aware that the person youâre speaking to isnât your son.â
My confusion turned to a cold, gripping fear. I hung up on the officer, my hand shaking, and switched back to the line with my sÆ¡n. I couldnât speak, just held the phone to my ear in stunned silence. There was no sound, just heavy breathıng on the other end.
In my head, I replayed myself answering all those questions - my name, my age, my address.
And then, just as the panic set in, the silence was shattered by a knock on my door. My bedroom door.
The voıce on the phone, now low and distorted, whispered, âI'm hereÒ, MoM.â The line went dead.