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Conversations With Mom

This week I have been interviewing random people, asking each one the same question. “If you could spend 30 minutes with someone who is no longer living, who would you choose and what would you want to talk about?”

A few of my theological friends went on tangents trying to decide if Jesus counted as deceased or not. Then they became tongue-tied and couldn’t think of anything to actually say to him.

However, the overwhelmingly most popular choice was, “I want to talk to my mom.”

Whether we are birthed by her, adopted, or gave the “Mom Role” to a woman who could be that significant person in our life, there is no closer bond. She taught us to laugh, dried our tears, shared our struggles, and gave us advice we later wished we had taken. Dad may have helped with… well, dad stuff, but it was Mom who cleaned up our messes. (My dad didn’t have the stomach for most of them.)

My mother was smart, interesting, well-read, and talented. You know what she wasn’t? Domestic. She loathed cooking, cleaning, sewing, ironing, and all the household responsibilities that women often assume in families. Did I mention she was smart? Mom sent me to Grandma Edith who taught me the tasks of a domestic goddess, thus freeing Mom’s time for higher pursuits like welding, meditation, and giving advice to young women who did listen to her.

After my mother passed away, I realized that there were lots and lots of things I wished we had talked about. She carried within her a treasure trove of family history that is now lost forever. There are pieces of my childhood that I only remember vaguely and wish I could look at now through the eyes of age and experience.

There were times when Mom and I hurt each other and never talked it out, never asked for forgiveness. Now it’s too late.

Here are some of the answers I heard during my random survey this week. “Mom” was the number one answer.

My friend Christine said she grew up very poor in Viet Nam. She was the sixth of ten children. One of her brothers literally starved to death because the family didn’t have enough food to eat. Christine wishes she could ask, “Why were you always so happy? We were miserable. Always complaining. But you never lost your temper and never let circumstances discourage you. Why?”

Dick, if you are reading this, I remember you told me that you wish your mother had shared her recipe for “Chicken Soup with Milk.” She was an amazing woman. You were an amazing son.

My friend Barbara was in grade school in Germany at the end of World War II when her father returned home. “He was never the same. He came home mean. I would never have dared ask him anything, but I wish I’d asked my mother, “What happened to Daddy in the war? We know he deserted Hitler’s army, but what is the rest of the story?”

And the woman in line after me at Safeway? “I wish I could ask my Mom if she loved me. I was never really sure. If I knew that she did, it would make all the difference in who I am today.”

Our mothers are custodians of family history, recipes, uncertain memories, and even our feelings about who we are. If your mother is still living, take time to sit down and ask her all the things you might someday wish you knew.

And above all else, don’t waste an opportunity to say, “I love you, Mom.”

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