“My mother called me collect the other night,” the man said, “and I was surprised, because she’s been dead for over ten years.”
We all laughed at this. We were sitting in a writing workshop, sharing our short stories, and most of them were pretty bad. But this opening sentence about the man’s mother really got our attention.
We laughed but it was more than laughter. There was also sadness and regret for some of us who, like me, had lost our mothers and would give a lot to get such a call.
It’s been 40 years since my mother died and I wonder if I’d recognize her voice? A lyrical quality but tentative on the phone, not wanting to bother me.
“I was just wondering how you are,” she would say, “and what you’re having for dinner.”
This always annoyed me. She was a gourmet cook and I could never measure up. “Can I bring something over? A casserole?”
“I don’t think so,” I’d say and find a way to get off the phone. Now, all these years later, I would welcome a casserole.
“It’s so good to hear your voice, Mom. You sound just like I remember.”