The Call I Almost Didn’t Make

I stared at the number on my screen for a full minute before pressing call.

It was my grandfather’s number — or rather, my mother’s phone with his contact still saved, even though he had passed away a year ago. She hadn’t deleted it. Neither had I.

I wasn’t calling him, of course. I was calling my mom. But for some reason, seeing his name again brought back everything — his laughter, the scent of cardamom tea in the evening, the way he’d squeeze my shoulder when words weren’t enough.

I almost didn’t make the call.

It had been a rough week. I was tired, overwhelmed, and honestly didn’t feel like talking. But something told me to press the green button anyway.

She answered on the second ring.
Her voice cracked. “I was just about to call you.”

We didn’t talk about anything urgent — just small things. The groceries she bought. The birds outside her window. The fact that she finally cleaned out his old books.

Then, out of nowhere, she said:
“Some days I feel like the world is forgetting him. But you remembered. You called.”

That’s when I realized: the call wasn’t really about me. It wasn’t even about the words we said. It was the connection. The reminder. The proof that love lingers, even in silence.

I hung up, feeling lighter.
Grief doesn’t always need grand gestures.
Sometimes, it just needs a ring tone — and someone on the other end.