The Missed Call

At 4 am, my phone rang. I didn’t hear it. I was asleep.

It was Mum. She’s been calling around that time almost every day. Maybe she still thinks I’m in Japan, where it would be 11 am, a normal time to call. But I’m not there anymore, and she doesn’t always remember that.

Dementia plays strange games with time. It takes her somewhere between past and present, where days blur and logic drifts. But even in that fog, she remembers me enough to reach out. I felt a pang of guilt for missing the call. But also, a strange kind of comfort. Mum is still trying, still calling.

I miss her, but maybe it's the old version of her that I miss the most. Still, part of me wonder if her calls mean something more. Maybe deep down, she senses something's not right with me. Maybe even with her condition, she knows... Because mums just do.

Oh Mum, I'm getting stronger everyday. I'm holding on, doing the work, and I'll be okay. You know I've got this. I always do. 

I’ll call her back when she’s awake. And I’ll keep picking up, whenever I can. Because one day, the calls will stop...and I’ll miss even these early morning moments.