I have seen that my parents get old on video calls. This is a calm sorrow that I never expected

I have seen that my parents get old on video calls. This is a calm sorrow that I never expected

The first person is written by the column Esthania de la Concha, who lives in Montreal. For more information about the stories of the first person, see FAQ,

My father responded to the video call with the same cheerful greetings, which he has given me for almost a decade. My mother bends, trying to squeeze her face into a small screen that allows us to share pieces of our daily life in thousands of kilometers.

It has been almost 10 years since Venezuela from Canada, and looking at his face on the screen has become a comfortable weekly routine.

I ask about their health, their routine, and I patiently listen to all the things they want to share, trying to read on the lines of their careful measured apprehensions.

Nevertheless, I notice a minor shock in my mother’s hand and full whiteness of my father’s hair. All these years of milestones have passed, only one screen granular pixels, some photos and just two short trips have been seen.

In 2018, two years after leaving home, my parents came to meet me in Montreal. They were both in the early 60s. While I saw the subtle change in their presence and strength, they remained active and independent, and neither navigated the city on their own despite speaking French or English. My father even went to Canadian tires on his own and successfully bought the synthetic grass I wanted for my balcony, in which the picture was used to show the employee to show how it should be cut to fit.

A woman with her parents in the Montreal Lookout.
The Center, Center, with his parents, was enjoying the scene in a lookout on Mount Royal during his visit to Montreal in May 2018. (Presented by Estaphyania de la Concha)

They stayed for six weeks. On his last day, I took him to the airport and said goodbye with a knot in my stomach, uncertain when I see him again. Two years later, in 2020, the epidemic made the journey impossible, and it was not until 2023, when I finally returned to Venezuela for the first time, when we were under the same roof.

I immediately saw how old he was in five years since his visit. My father could hardly walk and my mother was struggling with her health issues.

He always tried to save me from worrying too much, to keep his struggles silent or drop them. They were like pulling teeth to talk to them. But being in a person became impossible to ignore reality. I stayed for three weeks, and while resting there, it felt painfully insufficient.

A family photo selfie-style.
During the reunion of his family in 2023, De La Concha in Venezuela with his parents, brother and sister-in-law, second place. (Presented by Estaphyania de la Concha)

It is difficult to see your parents getting old, but it is her calm, destructive grief to see them through the screen. This is a sorrow that is difficult to explain to my friends in Quebec, whose families stay away only one drive.

When my father, now 70, was detected an autoimmune disease earlier this year, I wanted to run home, to sit next to him, to distract him from four -hour treatment that he finished for a month every Thursday. My mother, 67, also struggled with her health last year, and I wanted me to embrace her, to reduce the appointments and her burden with her. Instead, I sat in my apartment in Montreal, offering advice and comfort on a tadd internet connection.

These video calls take both our happiness and our heart pain. We celebrate birthdays and Christmas through a screen, like we share bad news and say goodbye in the funeral. We live here, and there. We try our best to keep a smile through all this, but for me, the fear of that unavoidable phone call is always behind my mind. I know, thousands of kilometers away, that when it comes, it would be impossible to make it on time.

A woman with her parents.
Da La Concha with his parents during a visit to Venezuela in May 2023, Center. (Presented by Estaphyania de la Concha)

To fight sorrow, I measure care in small acts. A tough phone call after a hard treatment, good morning and good night text, shared laughter in a story retained many times, and hope that we will meet soon. For now, I am relieved to know that they are taking care of each other – as careful as business roles and care.

These minor acts have taught me that having a family is not about physical proximity; It is about attention, emotional appearance and intentions.

I have learned a new way to love – from a distance, but just as. And for those lucky people who are close to their loved ones, it can work as a gentle reminder who never takes the food of Sunday’s family.


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