"No reply yet from the bank, Ma. I've been trying to..."
She cuts me short to inform me in a voice that sounded low and dreadful like distant thunder that she was bringing my father to the nearest district hospital because he had suddenly suffered what could be a stroke. I am stunned. My mother keeps talking, this time more obviously distraught, and she doesn't sense that I've "disconnected" myself from the call and that my mind is instead racing to understand or make sense of it all. I do pick up bits and pieces, but I can barely string them together to a cohesive whole. I'm furiously trying to snatch words that escape my oral grasp, but I catch nothing so I say nothing; my tears replace my fluency.
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