The Contact Book

As I was mourning my wife's death, I felt extremely nervous. My wife is gone. Her last word was "Aarush" our son's name as she held my right hand with her left. I was sitting beside the bed while she lay there, weak and helpless. I said, "Don’t leave me, darling," with tears in my eyes. She smiled, and slowly, her hand slipped out of mine. She was gone. I was all alone. What a mother she was. Even in her final moment, she thought of our son. But he doesn’t care about us now. He and his family live in the city. His wife doesn’t like us either. They never say it, but their eyes show everything. I’m an old man. I don’t know how to use smartphones. I only know how to use a telephone. I remembered I had my son’s number in the cupboard. When I opened the cupboard and started searching, I accidentally knocked over some papers and a photo album. As I picked them up, I noticed a piece of paper with our son's handwriting. It said, “Best parents in the world.” He had also drawn a sketch of the three of us me, my wife, and him. I smiled. I forgot what I was searching for as I opened the photo album. On the first page, it was a photo of me and my wife. It was the day we first met. We were just 17 young and full of life. Who would have thought our bond would last over 50 years? I turned the page. “Oh, our first date,” I whispered. That photo was from the day we first held hands. As I kept turning the pages, tears filled my eyes. I mumbled, “How could you leave me? How will I live without you?” Then I wiped my tears and gathered some strength. On the floor, under the album, I found the contact book. I quickly searched for my son’s number and rushed to call him.

The End