Her voice is tattered, musty. “Don’t hang up. Please.”
“I’m sorry Mrs. James,” I say. “The interview is over and my producer says…”
“Please.” Her voice melts. “They don’t let me talk about him anymore… my friends… my husband. They tell me to move on.”
“I sincerely hope they find your son, Mrs. James,” I say.
“Before you nobody’s called for months,” she bleats. “Everybody… moved on.”“I’m sorry, I have another call.”
“If I can’t talk about him,” she bawls. “I can’t keep him alive.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Wait!” she cries. “I didn’t tell you about…”
I hang up.
Story Note: A few days after Oct. 7, 2023, I listened to an episode of the podcast The Daily where a mother was interviewed about her missing son who had been taken. The pain in her voice was so awful, so overwhelming. I wished so badly for her pain to end, for her son to be supernaturally and immediately returned to her. And then, twenty minutes later, when the podcast was over, I hit ‘next’ on my podcast app. I moved on with my day and within minutes forgot about that woman and her taken son. Later, when I realized this, I was ashamed. How do you hear about, hold onto, separate yourself from, all of the grief in the world? This story is about hitting ‘next.’
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