I opened my phone and scrolled past a list of names and numbers, some familiar and some not, until I got to one that I hadn't called in a while: Mom. Calling people always makes me anxious, but I press her name anyway, hold my phone to my ear, and wait. I promised that I would call today.
I feel strange thinking about how I went from talking to her every single day for almost 19 years-- seeing her face and smelling her familiar perfume--to talking maybe once every two weeks through a phone. She doesn’t use her phone that much, but I imagine that she keeps it next to her, waiting for my call throughout the week. The dial tone drones on twice before she picks up.
“Hello?” Her voice resonates through my ear. Sometimes I have a hard time envisioning her face, but she’s there with me as soon as I hear her voice.
“Hi mom,” I reply. As we talk, my worries wash away. I forget that I’m in college. My responsibilities are gone. We talk about the same things every time that I call. She asks if I’m eating well, if classes are hard, and if I’ve gotten my headaches checked out. She tells me about her gym friends, how she ate so much coffee ice cream that she felt sick, and how Happy, our dog, got a haircut. I tell her about how my acne got worse, how Carnegie Mellon increased tuition, and about what I plan on doing over spring break. We talk about so many little things.
In high school, I probably didn't remember any of our daily conversations. I heard the same thing every day, so I brushed away her nagging for me to eat well, exercise, and go to church. She would tell me daily about how I should live with a grateful heart, how I am blessed. She would try making me go to church, firmly believing that it wasn’t too late for me to convert. She would make me food whenever I said that I was hungry, take me to the gym when she thought that I was gaining weight, and binge-eat coffee ice cream with me. At home, she was always so accessible and ready to talk to me whenever I was bored. I realize now how I took her existence for granted for such a long time. Now, when we have these simple conversations, I soak in her words, ingrain them into my head, and wish that I could be next to her in Jersey.
We talk about the silliest things, but I notice that she doesn’t nag anymore. She doesn’t pressure me about school or even mention how I basically failed introductory chemistry. She tells me to try my best and that I don’t need to call her if I’m busy, only when I have time. She tells me that she loves me.
As a freshman, I still don’t know who my close friends are or who genuinely cares for me here. Her words and her unconditional love reassure me. I open up and tell her that I don’t know what I’m doing, that I feel bad that I’m not doing as well as I should, that I feel stupid. She tells me that I’m special. I know that in the grand scheme of things, I’m not special at all. I’m just another human in the midst of billions. But just knowing that I’m special to her is enough.
I promise her that I’ll call next week. I tell her that I love her. As we disconnect, I’m back in my room, staring at my ceiling. I feel empty, but her warmth fills me as I think of our conversation and I know that she’s there with me. Sometimes, realizing what we take for granted is hard. Cherish every moment that you have with someone who you love. My mom sometimes talks about how she’s getting older and how in the future, when she’s gone, I’ll have to do things by myself. I hate the thought of that, but I know that it’s true. For now, I’ll survive by taking her advice to heart, asking her about her life and her story, calling her more consistently, and trying to embody her kind and strong nature.
She sends me a picture of Happy, groomed like a typical Asian-owned maltese. I laugh, reassured that the conversation isn’t over. Even though we’re miles apart, she makes everything OK and I’m blessed to have her.
