It is said that the first-born child always creates a special bond--a special love--in the mother's heart.  It is a bond as pure as the golden sun and as strong as iron.  It is a bond that grows even stronger when she touches the baby's wrinkled fingers for the first time, when she caresses his cheek, when she touches his scalp and the wisps of sparse and shiny hair.  By then, the bond has become a welding torch, irrevocably melting two hearts into one.  And no matter how quickly that child grows up, no matter how soon it becomes an adult with a life of its own, and no matter how far away that child strays from his mother, the bond that unites them never fades, never lessens, never dies.  At least not for the mother.  This is a story of one such bond, and the endurance of its love.

The Phone Call

(A Novella About A Mother's Love)