Every day, I pick up the phone and call my kids. They’re all grown now—with jobs, busy schedules, and lives of their own. But no matter how old they get, they’ll always be my babies.
I don’t call to bother them. I don’t call to control their lives. I call because I miss them. I call because hearing their voices reminds me that they’re still close, even if they’re miles away.
When they were little, I knew everything about their day—what they ate for lunch, what made them cry, what made them laugh. I was their safe place. And now? I just want to know they’re okay.
Letting them go has been the hardest part of being a parent. Watching them grow up, move out, and build lives of their own fills me with pride—but also with a quiet ache. I know they have to go. I know they need to find their own way. That’s what I raised them to do. But still, there’s a part of me that wants to hold on just a little longer.
Some days, our calls last only a few minutes. Just a “Hey, Mom” or “I’m good, Dad.” But those few minutes? They mean the world to me. They tell me, “I’m still here. I still need you, even just a little.”
I’ll keep calling. Even when they’re busy. Even when they forget to call back right away. Because love doesn’t stop when your kids grow up. If anything, it grows deeper. Quietly. Fiercely.
So yes, I call them every day. Not because I’m afraid they’ll forget me—but because I want them to always remember:
I will never stop being their parent. And I will never stop loving them—loudly, softly, daily.
“When your parents call, remember—it’s not just a phone call. It’s love reaching out.”
