There are certain times of day when I miss my mother – a lot. I often used to ring her at teatime. I sometimes fix the gap, sort of, by ringing one of my sisters.
We often say to each other “I wanted to ring Ma, so I’m ringing you.” No-one is offended. We all feel her lack, and it’s not as if we don’t ring each other at other times, times when we are not thinking that the person who is forever out of earshot is the one we really want to ring.
Yesterday at half past six I yearned to ring her, and I sat down to write about that feeling, and then the phone rang.
It was my son in California, ringing his mother.
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