The phone would have rung about 11:00 this morning.
“Happy Thanksgiving, honey.”
My mom. And she did it on Christmas, and Easter, and our birthdays, and our anniversary, always that call to begin the day.
It’s been 17 years since I’ve heard that phone call. It was her habit. Call the kids and wish them a happy ____________(whatever). Her voice, tuned to the emotional strings of the day, rang into the depths of me. I could depend on it. Like clockwork, as they say. No call this morning, no voice…
…except in my heart, where I will always hear it.