“Mother Do You Think They’ll Drop The Bomb?” (A Story on Moms)

I write self-help blogs, but I hardly ever give advice, especially advice from me. If it comes in that form, it comes from what I have learned from experts in the self-help and mental-health fields. But here’s some advice.

If your Mom is still alive and you are still in touch, hug her. Call her and tell her that you love her. And if you aren’t in touch, bury your ego and repair whatever reason you have for not being together.

I spent a great deal of time with my Mom in her last several years, and a good deal of time with her ever since her husband, my dad died. I can’t begin to count all of the movies we watched together in this years, and she always wanted me to pick the movie — so we watched a heck of a lot of Marvels together — something to this date I still feel a twinge of guilt for. I can’t imagine she cared if Thanos lived or died.

But here’s the thing. I know she liked it because she liked sharing in the moment with me. And I’ve know that since early age, because of one of my very first memories.

When I was about 5 years old, give or take, I recall being in the basement of our house with my Mom. She was in her business suite and I recall this well, it was dark blue, meaning she must have either just got back from work or was about to go to work. We were racing matchbox cars across our hard tile unfinished basement floor, a favorite activity of mine for a short-period of my life.

For whatever reason, I asked, likely for the first time a question about what would turn out to be about unconditional love, something I’ve written about here. Why was my Mom on the floor I her beautiful suit rolling cars with me? Did she enjoy the same activity as me? Surely not.

It dawned on me even at that age, she likely did not. But I also had this realization, or just a sense of presence, that she enjoyed be there with me because I enjoyed what I was doing. She got her joy from me being happy. What else is love but that?

My mom passed away two years ago and on a hike this morning I was thinking about the state of the world. Especially the threats we hear so often about; AI and Quantum Computing, Climate Change as existential— that at any moment our tie on the planet will come to a sudden end.

I grew up with that same threat. It was during the Cold War and I can also remember some nights afraid to go to sleep because I thought I wouldn’t wake up. Russia and The United States would “drop the bomb.”

So, I’d take my pillow and sleep on the floor right below where my Mom slept in bed, and I would fall sleep. It’s such a long time ago the memory is quite faded, but still there. And it dawns on my while writing this that perhaps some part of that also gave her happiness. Waking up to see that she knew she could take my fears away.

So, call your Mom and tell her you love her. If not for you, then for her. She will take joy in the fact that at some level you still need her. Because you do.

-Mike Spivey