I called my mother. In gulped sentences punctuated by frequent sobbing, I told my mother what had happened and how my tears were drenching us in sadness. There was no response from the other side. I asked, “Mother, do you hear me?” Her shaking voice came back. “I wish I weren’t hearing this.” Again, the three of us cried . . . but Madar could not comfort me from so far away. Those were the most painful days. I am happy that you would not remember them.
