Chidi,

Okay so I have to tell you about Sunday because I've thought about it every day since.

Mormor is 79 and she has never once managed a call with your side of the family. She just smiles and nods and afterwards asks me what everyone said, which, honestly, tragic. So I put the little translation buds in her ears — she called them "de der høreting," she refuses to learn the name — and I called your mum without warning anybody.

And Chidi. She heard it. Not the words, the whole thing. Aunty laughing over your mum, someone's radio, your dad shouting about the generator in the background. Mormor sat completely still on the sofa with her hands in her lap like she was at a concert. Then she said, in Danish, "she sounds exactly like you when you're annoyed," and your mum understood her, and they both just lost it.

It rained the entire afternoon here, proper grey Østerbro August, and nobody moved for two hours.

Fifteen years of nodding politely and it took a thing the size of a peanut. I'm still a bit wrecked about it.

Tell your mum Sunday again. Same time.

— M

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