I remember when my husband had a health scare. We called each child. Only one picked up. She asked, “Is it serious?” We said no. We always say no. (3 of 3)

Sometimes I wonder if we got it wrong. Not in loving them — never that. But in loving them so completely that we forgot to ask them to love us back. We taught them to accept but never to remember.

We never wanted to be a burden. We wanted to be the kind of parents who expected nothing. And now, at this age, nothing is exactly what we have — and it’s heavier than we ever imagined.

I remember when my husband had a health scare. We called each child. Only one picked up. She asked, “Is it serious?” We said no. We always say no.

No one came.

He recovered. But something inside him dimmed. He doesn’t hum anymore. Doesn’t smile at the mailbox. Just sits by the window, waiting — not for someone specific, just… something.

We’re not angry. Not even sad, really. Just quietly erased.

If you still have parents, call them. Visit them. Not just when the calendar tells you to. Show up. Listen to their stories. Let them know they matter.

Because one day, they’ll be gone. And you’ll look at your phone, see their name, and remember that no one’s on the other end anymore.

Love isn’t about grand gestures. It’s about showing up.

Don’t wait until it’s too late.