Today was my mother's visiting day.
She looked anxious today.
Earlier in the morning, I received a phone call from one of the nurses.
> "Mr. F, your mother seems a little confused today. Could you try talking with her?"
When I spoke to her on the phone, she said:
> "At T Station... there was a car... luxurious... like Japan... free... I can't explain it clearly... wait..."
She spoke continuously, but I couldn't understand what she was trying to say.
It seemed she was becoming frustrated because she couldn't find the words she wanted.
During my afternoon visit, she still looked worried.
Her usual cheerful smile was gone.
Over the past several days, she had begun calling me every day.
I think she has been practicing how to use her mobile phone.
Whenever the call connected, she would say,
> "I can't do it... How do I do this again?"
I would reply,
> "It's working. We're talking just fine. You're doing great."
She would smile and say,
> "Okay... I'll try again."
> "All right, I'll hang up now."
Then, a few minutes later, she would call me again.
That has become our daily routine.
At first, she struggled even with the simple sequence of pressing the call button and then holding the phone to her ear.
Recently, however, about half the time she can answer the phone smoothly.
She even brought her mobile phone to today's visit so she could practice using it.
It still seemed difficult for her.
> "I don't understand anything anymore... I'm hopeless."
I answered,
> "You're doing fine. You've been calling me every day."
She looked at me and asked,
> "Really... am I doing okay?"
> "Yes. You're doing just fine."
That was how our visit ended.
When it was time to leave, she looked sad.
> "Call me again, okay?"
she said as we said goodbye.
---
After returning home, I was in the middle of thoroughly cleaning the toilet—another casualty left behind by my father—when I noticed that my mother had called me.
I had missed the call by about ten minutes.
I called her back immediately, but she didn't answer.
I phoned the ward and asked one of the nurses how she was doing.
> "Mrs. F looked anxious while holding her phone, but she's settled down now and is eating dinner."
That was reassuring.
Tomorrow, I'll try calling her instead.
She doesn't seem able to answer the phone unless she's already holding it in her hand, so I'll ask one of the nurses to help her.
I also brought her a smartphone, hoping we might be able to have video calls.
Unfortunately, the small screen seemed difficult for her to see.
She frowned, looked closely at it, and simply asked,
> "What's this?"
Now I wish I had brought her a tablet instead.
I still don't know...
what makes my mother anxious,
or what she is really trying to tell me.
I'm still learning, too.
---
## Postscript
My mother's memory has improved considerably.
For a while, I truly believed she had forgotten everything.
Recently, however, she has started calling me **"F"** and **"Little F"** again.
I'm no longer **the forgotten son**!
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