I Ignored Her Call. She Never Called Again.

The Last Missed Call From My Mother”

“Did you eat? Drink some warm milk. You sound tired.”

My mother said this every night without fail. No matter how many times I said I was busy, she always called.

One day… the phone stopped ringing. And I never got the chance to say goodbye.

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1. A Busy Life, A Constant Voice

I live in Delhi. I work in IT. Long hours, tight deadlines, weekend hangouts, Netflix at night, and an inbox that never stops growing. My life was always moving — routine, reliable, restless.

Except for one small pause in the evening.

A pause shaped like a phone call from Mom.

Every evening around 8:30 PM, like clockwork:

“Did you eat something?”

“Don’t stay up late.”

“Take some turmeric milk, it’s getting cold these days.”

I’d sigh and say, “Mom, please. I’m not a kid anymore.”

She’d laugh.

“To me, you’ll always be that little boy who wouldn’t let go of my hand on his first day of school.”

I’d roll my eyes, check Slack notifications, and say,

“Okay, I have work. I’ll call you later.”

And I’d hang up.

I thought I had time.

I thought I could call back… later.

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2. The Night I Didn’t Answer

That night was like any other.

I was deep in code, prepping for a Monday demo.

My friends pinged: “Beer pong night at 9?”

I smiled, feeling young and free.

That’s when my phone rang.

“Mom calling.”

I looked at it.

Paused.

And…

Ignored it.

I told myself I’d call back tomorrow.

She’d understand. She always did.

That night, she didn’t call again.

I didn’t think twice.

I laughed with friends, had two beers, crashed on the couch.

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3. The Call That Changed Everything

The next morning, around 10 AM, my younger sister called.

She never calls. We usually just text.

Her voice was shaking.

“Bhaiya… Mom fainted this morning. She’s in the hospital. Doctors said it was a heart failure.”

I froze.

Heart pounding. I stood in the middle of the office floor, staring at nothing.

People walked by. Voices blurred.

I took the first flight home.

By the time I landed, I already knew.

Mom was gone.

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4. A Diary, and One Final Note

When I reached home, the house was silent.

The walls still smelled like her cooking.

Her slippers were still by the door.

Her prayer beads lay on her pillow.

But she wasn’t there.

In her room, I found her diary.

Neat handwriting. Pages filled with shopping lists, spiritual quotes, and little memories.

I flipped to the last page she had written in.

It said:

“Rohan didn’t pick up my call today. Maybe he was tired. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

I couldn’t breathe.

Even in her last written words, she wasn’t upset.

She was understanding.

She was always… understanding.

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5. A Regret That Doesn’t Go Away

There’s no way to describe that kind of pain.

The guilt. The weight. The “if only.”

If only I had picked up the phone.

If only I had said, “I love you.”

If only I had listened to her stories a bit longer, laughed a little more, and told her about my day…

But I didn’t.

Because I thought there’d be time.

And now?

Now, there’s nothing but silence.

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6. Her Number Is Still Saved

Today, when my phone rings and I see “Mom” on the screen, for one split second, I forget.

Then I remember:

The number now belongs to someone else.

I never had the heart to delete her contact.

Because that number wasn’t just a contact.

It was home.

It was warmth.

It was Mom.

I still haven’t deleted it.

Sometimes, I just stare at it.

I scroll through old messages. Voice notes. Even those 3-second “missed calls.”

That’s all I have now.

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7. To You, Who Still Has Time

If you still have your mom,

Please — pick up the call.

Even if you’re tired. Even if it’s the same questions she always asks.

Even if you think you’ll call back later.

Just take that moment.

Give her those 2 minutes.

They might become the most precious minutes of your life.

Because one day, you’ll have all the time in the world…

But her number won’t ring again.

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💬 From My Heart to Yours

I wrote this not to make you sad, but to help you remember.

We’re all busy.

We all want space.

But our parents… they’re waiting for that one call.

That “I love you.”

That “I miss you.”

That “Tell me about your day, Ma.”

You don’t have to be perfect.

You just have to be present.

Even for 2 minutes.