Reflections on Moments Shared With My Mother

I’m sitting at a Panera, where every quality novel, article and blog post imaginable has been written. I can see Steinbeck writhing in disgust as he bites into a red onion he purposefully excluded from his order, giving birth to his description of Liza Hamilton, who had a “dour Presbyterian mind and a code of morals that pinned down and beat the brains out of nearly everything that was pleasant to do.” (You can tell he was pretty “salty” about something as he wrote this).

I was mulling over a work project as a 8 year-old boy and his mother sat down beside me for lunch. They were distinctively different, in that they were actively engaged in conversation the whole time. Neither of them were sidetracked by conflicting technological or social temptations, which I’m sure were very present (as they sadly are with all of us these days?—?and especially sadly are for 8 year-old kids as well). They discussed fruit, Halloween, school, the Super Bowl, dogs and why they’re so much nicer than cats, and how a credit card works and why it’s important to pay your bills on time. I admired how great she was at keeping him engaged?—?it was apparent she was savoring this half-an-hour Panera date with her little guy. Observing his interaction with his mother inevitability led to me reflecting on little moments I shared with mine.

Some days (i.e. most days) are different in how I reflect on time spent with my Mom. The gratitude of the once was is often overshadowed by the pain of the no more?—?but that isn’t how it feels today. I’m really grateful for the little moments we shared that I can cling to and cherish: the late night Friday Night Light marathons (Coach Taylor is the man, btw), the moment where I drained a 3 in a church basketball game and she went absolutely insane (I cannot stress absolutely insane enough here), or the many, many times where my sister and I would go into her room on weekend mornings and just sit there and chat, enjoying one another’s company.

I’ve been called a lot of nicknames in my lifetime: MP, Matty P, Matty Ice, White Chocolate (one of my favorites?—?ask me about it), Chandler, and more recently Matthatter, but none compare to what my mother affectionally called me throughout my upbringing, Pup-Pup. I can still hear the soft tone in her voice, preserved in time.

My sincere recommendation is this: as the hustle and bustle of our everyday lives continue at the breakneck pace that is our modern world, take intentional moments to be still and cherish time with those you love. Be truly present, not just there, and cling to those (also?—?take photos and videos, something I wish I’d done more of growing up) so that they’ll be preserved in time, just as my mother’s voice is to me.