Hello Mom? From a “Lifeline” to a “Life” Line

In my book,  "I'd Rather Kill Myself Than Be A Lawyer: How Anyone Can Find Happiness", I talk extensively about the impact my parents had on my life, spending most of the time discussing the negative side of their over-parenting. Therefore, today I would like to set the record straight on the positive impact my mom had on my life as I took and continue to take my journey toward happiness.

Before I continue, I want to clarify that the exclusion of my dad from the above was not meant as a passive dig.  All of what I discuss occurred after dad died. This story is what came afterwards. I ended up having this individual time with my mom only because dad passed away too soon.

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From the very beginning of the book, I explain that my folks were very, shall we say, “involved,” which was both good, inasmuch as they provided unconditional love, and bad, inasmuch as they drove me to try to almost kill myself (come on. It’s just too easy).

The low point of this relationship occurred on April 12, 1995, the day I overdosed. In the Preface to the book I describe how I took the pills and immediately called my mother.

On page 10, I recount the call:

“Hello?”

“Mom…?”

“Hi Robbie. What’s up?”

“Mom, you or Dad may want to call someone right now.  I’m at my office and I need to get to the hospital.”

…the rest is history.

As I am writing today about my relationship with my mom, I must start with that phone call.

That call was layered with complexity as it was both an “f- you” to my parents for forcing me into law and a “lifeline,” as my life started slipping away. Little did I know that phone calls with my mom would eventually play a big part in my life.

Daily telephone calls with mom over the past almost seventeen years morphed from the original “lifeline” call to what are now “life” line calls.

The daily calls teach me about my parent’s lives, show me that mom is stronger mentally than me, my brothers and my dad combined and finally, teach me lessons on enjoying life.

How It Started

When my father died in February 2004, I was worried about mom so I began calling her each weekday morning to check on her.

Up until my dad died, I maybe spoke to my parents once per week, which is the normal amount of exposure doctors recommend to your parents. 

After Dad exited the world, however, I started calling her first thing every morning with the notion that, “I want her to know somebody gives a shit that she wakes up every day.”  I certainly did not intend to keep up the calls longer than it took to make sure she was ok and back on her feet.

Concern for mom was normal, as it would be for anyone who lost their life partner.  After all, for the prior 45 years my folks were joined at the hip. We all wondered about how mom might adapt to navigating the world without my dad.

About Mom and Dad

Audrey and George were the typical older Jewish couple you might see in bar mitzvah montages. You know the type, they look a bit like their kids if the kids had been left out in the sun a little too long, bloated a little and embraced elastic waist-lined pants.  They went by Mom-mom and Poppy and were absolutely and completely devoted to their family and even more so to each other.

Like many women of that generation, mom was the co-star in the relationship: The Robin to Dad’s Batman, the Kato to his Green Hornet, the Captain to his Tennille.  The fact is she relished it.

Therefore, it would have been completely understandable after his death if mom just retracted, kept to herself and simply did not move on in any meaningful way. It has happened to others and especially people who defined their lives in large part through their marriage.  Dad’s death from pancreatic cancer devastated her. I was concerned she would be lost.

Hence the daily calls.

The Rock

Adversity is an interesting thing.  Everyone responds differently. I, for example, when faced with adversity, took a bottle of pills.  My mom, on the other hand, created an entirely new reality for herself.  It wasn’t immediate of course.  She will always mourn my father’s loss.  For a while there she felt a bit hopeless, not knowing how the rest of her life would look.

Then an interesting thing happened.  She refused to give in to her impulse to wallow in sadness.

Instead mom began making friends, seeing her family, going out to eat, reading, playing mahjongg[1] , watching TV and being content in her life.  She was no longer primarily identified as Mrs. Dr. Segall (a title she loved) and all that it entailed. She re-emerged as what she always was and something I always longed to be:  happy.

I had never seen it before because I was so wrapped up in my own problems and because I did not have the constant one on one discussions with her. I learned what a positive influence my mom had on my growing up and even more so as an adult. I had only been focused on the negatives.

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 [1] Before shitting on my spelling- I looked it up several ways to spell it. Kind of like spelling Chanukah

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Back to the Calls

While mom was/is doing great, my daily struggles with stress continued and another interesting thing happened. Those calls, which were designed to support her, ended up becoming my daily therapy.  

Every week day I call her ( I take the weekends off), very often waking her up. We talk about the prior day’s events and then I complain about the same shit … money, work, stress, work, anxiety and of course, work.

Every time Mom listens patiently and then offers words of wisdom.  She tells me about her and my dad’s life together, their struggles- whether it be money or the break up of his partnership or family issues or whatever. I have heard the same stories over and over. Each time I get something new out of them that gives me perspective.

Interspersed in the discussions are sage words of advice. She always ends the discussions the same way.  That includes yesterday morning, as I was sharing me Covid worries.  Mom once again said, “Rob, live in the moment.  Look at what you have accomplished, not what you haven’t or might not. Be happy with where you are right now.”

I know there might be those amongst you who think this is ridiculous. A grown man talking to his mommy regularly. An adult who needs his mom to help him with stress. You might be correct. I wish anxiety was not my enemy. With that said, without those calls my days would have been far more difficult.

Furthermore, much of my book comes from these talks with my mom. I love my therapist.

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