Mum, why are you sending me all these images again? Good morning, Happy Name Day… My phone freezes because of them! Can you just write for something important? Or not write at all if theres no news? Im working, I dont have time for your little poems about kittens!
Adam tossed his phone onto the desk with irritation. Its screen still glowed, showing a picture of a fluffy bunny with the words Hope you have a sunny day! on it.
Hes thirty-five, a lead software developer at a major tech firm in London. His days are filled with deadlines, Zoom calls, sprints, and a ceaseless flow of information.
His mother, Margaret Bennett, lives in a small village about two hundred miles away. She mastered WhatsApp just half a year ago, after Adam gifted her his old smartphone.
Since then, life has become a mess of gifs.
Each morning begins with a pixelated cuppa. Each evening ends with an angel watching over you meme.
At first, Adam tried to reply politely with a quick emoji. Then he started ignoring them. And today, he finally snapped.
Margaret stared at her sons message.
Dont write unless theres news.
She looked out the window. The autumn drizzle blurred the hedges in their garden. What news could she possibly have?
Their cat, Archie, caught a mouse?
Mrs. Evans next door had words with the postman again?
Her blood pressure shot up to one-eighty this morning?
Are these really stories for her son whos making the digital future?
She sighed quietly, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her handkerchief, and deleted the Good night card shed prepared.
All right, Adam. I wont, she typed with difficulty, pecking at the keys one by one. But then she deleted it. Why bother him at all?
Carefully, she set the phone down on the sideboard.
Adam enjoyed the silence. No buzzing in his pocket. No silly videos.
At last, she gets it, he thought.
A week passed.
On Friday night, he sat at the pub with his mates.
My mum sent me a video yesterdayhow to pickle gherkins! a colleague chuckled. She reckons Ill need it someday!
Everyone laughed.
Adam pulled out his phone and opened his chat with his mum.
The last message was his own: …OR DONT WRITE AT ALL.
Status: Last online: 6 days ago.
A strange feeling jabbed at Adam. Mum never turned her mobile data off. She used to say, What if you ring and I dont see?
He gave her a call.
Long tones. Endless, dragging.
No answer from this number.
He rang again. And again.
A cold, sticky fear started to rise inside him, crawling up his chest.
He sped down the motorway, ignoring every rule.
He called the neighbour, Mrs. Evans.
Margaret? Oh, Adam love… Im not sure. I knocked on her door two days ago. Thought shed popped to the shop. No light on. Maybe shes gone to visit her sister in the next town over?
Adam knew his mum didnt have a sister in the next town. She didnt have anyone but him.
He arrived at the village at three in the morning.
The house was dark. The gate hung open.
He dashed to the doorlocked from the inside.
Mum! Mum, open up!
He smashed the window, barely noticing the glass scraping his palms. He clambered through.
The house was quiet, just the soft tick from the old mantel clock.
His mum lay asleep on the sofa in her frayed dressing gown.
Adam hurried to her side and grabbed her hand.
Her hand was warm.
Margaret opened her eyesclouded, startled.
Adam? Whats wrong? Has something happened? Is there a war?
He sank to the floor, pressing his forehead to her knees, shaking all over.
Mum… Why didnt you answer? Why havent you been online?
Well, you said… not to write, she said in confusion, stroking his hair. And the phone… well, it mustve gone flat. I put it away, didnt want to bother you. Thought you were working.
Adam flicked on the lamp.
On the sideboard lay a dead phone.
Next to it, a notebook. Adam picked it up.
It was her message diary.
His mum had written down everything she wished she could send him, but didnt.
Tuesday. Adam, the sun came out today. Remember when we used to go to the park? You dropped your ice cream and cried. Love you.
Wednesday. Blood pressures playing up. Took my tablet. Wont mention it to you, youre busy. Just want you to know Im proud.
Thursday. Dreamt of your dad. He told me to remind you to look after yourself.
Adam read through her uneven handwriting and felt the wall of his cynicism shattering.
All those silly pictures, those emojis, those funny cardsthey were her way of saying, Im here. Im okay. Im thinking of you.
It was her way of showing she was still around.
And hed stopped it.
If she had suffered a stroke, he might never even have known. Because he himself had insisted she keep quiet.
That weekend, Adam stayed.
He fixed a wobbly gate. He set up her television. He bought her a new phone with an extra-big screen.
Mum, he said before heading off, send them.
Send what, love?
Everything. Cats, e-cards, the weather, pie recipes. Every day. You hear me? Every morning. I want to know youre still starting a new day. It matters to me. It means youre there.
Driving back to the city, his phone dinged.
WhatsApp. Mum.
A chubby ginger tom in glasses, clutching a bouquet of daisies, grinned back at him. Caption: Safe journey, love!
For the first time in ages, Adam smiled truly.
He pressed record:
Cheers, Mum. Cats brilliant. Ill ring when I get back.
Moral:
Annoying messages from your parents aren’t spam. They’re the only fragile thread connecting them to your worlda world where, for them, theres little place left. Dont cut the line. Because one day, your phone will fall forever silent and youd give anything to get one more silly Good morning card you once found so pointless, but therell be no one left to send it.
