The Power of a Simple Phone Call: Friendship, Loss, and Human Connection

“I’ve been thinking about you”, I said when she picked up.

There was a pause.

Then she told me her mother had died.

This afternoon, I called my friend Yuki.

“I’ve been thinking about you these past few days. I hadn’t heard from you in a while, and I thought—let me just give you a call.”

“My mother passed away.”

“When?”

“March 21.”

“When did you find out?”

“A week later. I tried calling her, but I couldn’t reach her. Eventually, one of her neighbors called me.”

Yuki was born in Japan, grew up in California, and moved to Amsterdam sometime in her twenties. 

We live in the same neighborhood and became friends because we both had dogs and kept running into each other while walking them. We both love cooking, good food, a glass of wine—or a drink. Yuki enjoys big parties; I don’t, so she doesn’t invite me anymore. And I’m perfectly fine with that. I prefer smaller gatherings, ideally one-on-one.

Yuki is a bit older than I am. About ten years ago, she had a stroke and now uses a wheelchair. But that hasn’t stopped her from living an active and social life. She used to speak with her mother on the phone twice a week.

“You must have been so worried during that week when you couldn’t reach her.”

“Yes… She had given me the number of a new friend, but it turned out to be wrong.”

Yuki told me about everything she now had to arrange from Amsterdam—with the bank and a notary in the U.S. Fortunately, friends were helping her out.

“I actually feel like crying,” she said, “but that will have to wait until everything is taken care of.”

“Why not now?” I asked. She was afraid she might fall apart and wouldn’t be able to keep handling what needed to be done. I recognized that feeling. As if, once you let your emotions in, you can’t just switch back.

“It’s a bit like with Harry”, she said.

Harry was a close friend of mine, someone I spent nearly every day with for twenty years.

“When I walk my dog”, Yuki said, “I sometimes see something and think—my mother would have loved that”.

I have that with Harry too. I’ll be walking through IKEA alone—something we always did together—and I really miss him.

For a brief moment—maybe a minute or two, no longer—we allowed ourselves to cry. Just briefly. The day wasn’t over yet, and there were still things that needed to be done. Just a little steam released.

Then Yuki said we should get together soon. She wanted to try an Italian recipe. I told her I love Sicilian dishes—so simple, and incredibly good. She asked me to “describe” one. I told her about Swiss chard with potatoes and beans. 

“Don’t they have something with fish too?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, “pasta with swordfish and mint”.  (video)

“Perfect,” she said. “We’ll have the chard as a starter, the pasta as a main, and chestnut cake for dessert.”

And she was even going to make her own amaretto.

I had to go, and Yuki thanked me for calling.

“I feel so much better all of a sudden”, she said. “Just now I felt really sad—and now I don’t.”

I know. It doesn’t always work like that. But often, a simple conversation can shift something inside you. Human connection matters. It does something that texting or chatting simply can’t.

So I said, 

“The pleasure was mine. Just call me whenever you feel like talking.”

And you?

Do you call someone when you’re feeling down—or not?

If this made you think of someone, give them a call… 

and maybe share this story too.

Photo: Polima Shirokova