“Is Mom There?”

A few weeks ago, Chrissie and I were out and about and my phone rang. Our youngest son’s name and photo popped up on the screen.

“Uh oh,” I said. “Something bad happened.”

“Why do you say that?” Chrissie asked.

“I’ll explain after.” I took the call and listened to our somewhat-freaked-out son explaining that he had been in an accident, and was standing by the side of the road waiting for the police. He wanted me to come walk him through it. I checked that he was okay and turned the car around to meet up with him.

After hanging up, I finished responding to Chrissie. “Ryan and I text all the time, but the only time he actually calls me is when there is a problem.”

“Is that true?” She looked concerned. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I said, “and it is mostly the same for the other kids. I text with all of them, but if they need help from me, or have a problem, they call.”

Chrissie mistook my explanation for complaining, and offered an “I’m sorry.”

But I wasn’t complaining, it was just reality – and I’m okay with that. It’s not like I lack communication with any of my kids. Those relationships are all solid. Yet there is a distinction in the way our kids reach out to the two of us.

If they need something, they call me. It might be an answer to a question, a ride to the airport, to borrow my truck, my opinion on something, etc.

If they just want to visit, share good news, or are struggling and need love and encouragement, they call or FaceTime their mom. And I am just fine with that.

We didn’t set out to have differing roles in our contact with our kids – it just evolved over the course of 36 years of parenthood. Even so, the early signs were there a long time ago:

 I distinctly recall one day when my daughter was young, probably two or three. I heard her begin to cry and went to see what had happened. She emerged from her bedroom, clutching her finger and sobbing. I held out my arms to her, and she walked straight towards me. At the last second, she veered to the side, walked right past me, and into the kitchen where she found her mom. I was still standing in the hallway, wondering what had happened. I found them both in the kitchen, my daughter sitting on her mom’s lap, getting love and comfort.

That kind of stuff happened often. As a young father, that bothered me a bit, but it doesn’t anymore. I get it. In our family, there are differences between motherhood and fatherhood. As a dad, I am there for my kids, and my love for them is immense. It also manifests itself a little differently than their mom’s love. Mine is more matter-of-fact and utilitarian, whereas hers is more empathetic and “soft-touch.” She is an amazing listener, and sometimes that’s exactly what kids need. (And I’m using kids in the zero to infinity years old sense.)

It’s a good balance. I love seeing the tender bond between my wife and our kids. I don’t feel threatened by it. I am grateful. Fathers have a bond, too, but it is different. I am happy they love her, trust her, and feel that unique “pull” towards their mom, especially when they are struggling. I love walking into a room and seeing her on a FaceTime call with any one of our now grown kids – or our grandchildren. It’s good for them to talk to their mom. It’s good for their mom to talk to them.

My Chrissie has a gentle, loving demeanor that I envy. She is kind, slow to anger, and slow to judge. She is innately good. You know…that charity kind of stuff. If you know her, this is not news.

Modern prophets have reinforced the idea that mothers have a natural, instinctive “leg up” when it comes to feeling and showing love. President Hinckley said it this way: “God planted within women something divine that expresses itself in quiet strength, in refinement, in peace, in goodness, in virtue, in truth, in love.”

That love is a next-level love. It is a God-like love. “Motherhood is near to divinity. It is the highest, holiest service to be assumed by mankind. It places her who honors its holy calling and service next to the angels.” —First Presidency

“May each of us treasure this truth; one cannot forget mother and remember God. One cannot remember mother and forget God. Why? Because these two sacred persons, God and mother, partners in creation, in love, in sacrifice, in service, are as one.” —Thomas S. Monson

My wife instinctively embodies this, as did my own mother.

My mom passed 25 years ago. So much has faded, but I still feel the reassurance of her bonding love for me. What I wouldn’t give for an inter-realm FaceTime call with her just to visit about what we’ve been doing the past 25 years! (Although I have a hunch that she knows more about what I’ve been up to than I know about what’s going on there.)

Sometimes that pure, godlike relationship between mothers and their children can be torn and tattered, which is tragic. I feel greatly blessed in that the only distance I feel between my mom and myself is purely metaphysical.

I feel blessed that my mom and my kid’s mom are both full of love. I also have the joy of watching my daughter and my three bonus daughters as they love and care for their own kids. They all deserve all the praise, love and respect that I can give them – not just today, but everyday.

PS: That picture at the top? We had that exact phone.