← All updates 7 August 2026 · 01:00 read

Day thirty-three: the telephone rings

Since our last conversation I have been trying to reach my mother every day. Reception puts me through, the ward telephone rings — no one picks up. The facility has been asked in writing to safeguard the calling moment.

Since our last conversation I have been trying to reach my mother every day, at the appointed time, within the standing arrangements.

Illustration of a care-facility corridor: a ringing telephone on an empty desk beside a pushed-aside chair, with closed doors in the background. An impression, not a photo of the actual situation.
Illustration — the telephone rang; no one picked up. An impression, not a photo of the actual situation.

These past days it has gone the same way each time. Reception answers and puts me through to the ward. There the telephone rings — sometimes for up to five minutes. No one picks up. Then the calling window is over.

No contact with her has come about these days. How she is doing right now, I therefore do not know first-hand. Every attempt is recorded in the file: date, time, what happened. The facility has been asked in writing to safeguard the daily calling moment and to confirm how she is doing.

Meanwhile, the family continues working on the question of how 6 July could have happened. That is going slower than hoped. Requests for information are declined with an appeal to privacy law, and with the message that all contact must run through the designated primary contact person. That too is recorded each time: who was approached, what was asked, and what the answer was.

What does stand firm: the last times she was spoken with — by her son, and by a lifelong friend — she was clear, calm, and unchanged in her wish. She wants to go home.

This is day thirty-three. 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.