Morning Roll Call

Imagine: early morning, the dim light of phone screens, trembling voices greeting each other. Elderly people gather in a virtual room, each one a keeper of their own story.

They take turns calling out, their words simple yet filled with deep meaning:
— "I’m here."
— "Me too."
— "Still alive, but my legs ached again last night."
— "Still breathing."

Sometimes, someone doesn’t answer. A pause follows, a silence wrapping around the screen. The others wait anxiously. Then someone says:

— "Maybe they just forgot."
— "Or their phone died."

But they understand. After a moment, one of them suggests remembering that person — their jokes, their stories, their habits. Slowly, the conversation shifts into a gentle smile through the sadness.

This roll call is not just a check to see who’s still alive. It is a symbol of connection, the last island of human warmth they hold onto with all their strength in the swift current of time.