← All updates 5 August 2026 · 01:00 read

Day thirty-one: the line stays silent

On Tuesday and again today I called the ward at the appointed time. No contact came about. Meanwhile there was also progress: the first conversation with the independent care broker.

Since the conversation about the bar of chocolate, I have been trying to reach my mother again. On Tuesday and again today I called the ward, at the appointed time, within the standing arrangements.

Illustration of the same care-facility room in the evening: an untouched telephone beside the tulips on the nightstand, the door ajar with light from the corridor. An impression, not a photo of the actual situation.
Illustration — the telephone went unanswered. An impression, not a photo of the actual situation.

Three times I was told they were having dinner. Twice the line was not picked up; later I was told they were probably busy and that I could try again later.

No contact with her came about this week. Every attempt is recorded in the file. Dated. Complete.

There was also progress. On Monday, the first conversation took place with the independent care broker. It was a good and open conversation: she understands the situation, is gathering information herself from the care professionals involved, and is thinking along about the possible routes — with the realism that belongs to that.

What stands out most from that conversation: the way back begins with my mother herself. Her wish is clear, and she repeats it to everyone who speaks with her. About the steps that belong to that, I am not writing here. They are in the file.

This is day thirty-one. I write down what happens, because my mother cannot — and because a day will come when people ask how this was allowed to happen.

We are not done.