The Phone Call She Always Answered

Margaret Chen's phone would ring at 2 a.m., and she always knew who it was. Her son David had moved to Portland after college, determined to build his life without what he called "the old obligations." He skipped Thanksgivings. He forgot birthdays. Months would pass without a word.

But when the startup failed, he called. When the relationship crumbled, he called. When the biopsy came back uncertain, he called — sobbing, desperate, suddenly remembering that he had a mother who loved him.

Margaret told her friend once, "He only remembers my number when his world falls apart." And her friend asked the obvious question: "So why do you keep answering?"

Margaret paused. "Because I'm his mother. That doesn't change just because he forgets it."