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Ten years ago I got a phone call. It was a wrong number.

This is not the sort of thing I would usually remember.

That particular day, that particular summer, a phone call from an unknown number was a terrifying thing. My mother was in the hospital, critically ill, and was not expected to improve.

But my caller left a message. It was something simple and cheerful, along the lines of "oh hello, sorry to bother you, I called the wrong number." I've never had someone leave a message like that before, and never since. On that particular day the relief I felt to hear it was revelatory. 

I've thought about that, and how thankful I was that she took those extra few moments, at least once a year for the past decade.