The Other Woman By David ...

THE OTHER WOMAN by David Farrell.

Prov. 23:22 - "Listen to your father, who gave you life, and do not despise your mother when she is old."

After 21 years of marriage, I’ve discovered a new way of keeping the spark of love and intimacy alive in my relationship with my wife: I’ve recently started dating another woman.

It was my wife’s idea, actually "You know you love her," she said one day, taking me by surprise. "Life is too short. You need to spend time with the people you love."

"But I love you," I protested. "I know, but you also love her. You probably won’t believe me, but I think that if the two of you spend more time together, it will bring the two of us closer."

As usual, Peggy was right. The other woman that my wife was encouraging me to date was my mother.

My mom is a seventy-one-year-old widow who has lived alone since my father died nineteen years ago. Right after his death, I moved 2,500 miles away to California, where I started my own family and career.

When I moved back near my hometown five years ago, I promised myself I would spend more time with her.

But somehow with the demands of my job and three kids, I never got around to seeing her much beyond family get-togethers and holidays.

She was surprised and suspicious when I called and suggested the two of us go out to dinner and a movie. "What’s wrong? Are you moving my grandchildren away?" she asked.

My mother is the type of woman who thinks anything out of the ordinary - a late-night phone call or a surprise dinner invitation from her eldest son - signals bad news.

"I thought it would be nice to spend some time with you," I said. "Just the two of us." She considered that statement for a moment. "I’d like that," she said. "I’d like that a lot."

I found myself nervous as I drove to her house Friday after work. I had the predate jitters - and all I was doing was going out with my mother, for Pete’s sake!

What would we talk about? What if she didn’t like the restaurant I chose? Or the movie? What if she didn’t like either?

When I pulled into her driveway, I realized how excited she, too, was about our date. She was waiting by the door with her coat on. Her hair was curled.

She was smiling. "I told my lady friends that I was going out with my son, and they were all impressed," she said as she got into my car. "They can’t wait until tomorrow to hear about our evening."

We didn’t go anywhere fancy, just a neighborhood place where we could talk. When we got there my mother clutched my arm - half out of affection and half to help her negotiate the steps into the dining room.

Once we were seated, I had to read the menu for both of us. Her eyes only see large shapes and shadows. Halfway through listing the entrees, I glanced up. Mom was sitting across the table, just looking at me. A wistful smile traced her lips.

"I used to be the menu reader when you were little," she said. I understood instantly what she was saying. From caregiver to cared-for, from cared-for to caregiver; our relationship had come full circle. "Then it’s time for you to relax and let me return the favor," I said.

We had a nice talk over dinner. Nothing earth-shattering, just catching up with each other’s lives. We talked so much that we missed the movie.

"I’ll go out with you again, but only if you let me buy dinner next time," my mother said as I dropped her off. I agreed.

"How was your date?" my wife wanted to know when I got home that night. "Nice... nicer than I thought it would be," I said. She smiled her I-told-you-so smile.

Since that night I’ve been dating Mom regularly. We don’t go out every week, but we try to see each other at least a couple of times a month. We always have dinner, and sometimes we take in a movie, too.

Mostly, though, we just talk. I tell her about my daily trials at work. I brag about the kids and my wife. She fills me in on the family gossip I can never seem to keep up on.

She also tells me about her past. Now I know what it was like for my mom to work in a factory during World War II. I know about how she met my father there, and how they nurtured a trolley-car courtship through those difficult times.

As I’ve listened to these stories, I’ve come to realize how important they are to me. They are my history. I can’t get enough of them.

But we don’t just talk about the past. We also talk about the future. Because of health problems, my mother worries about the days ahead. "I have so much living to do," she told me one night. "I need to be there while my grandchildren grow up. I don’t want to miss any of it."

Like a lot of my baby-boomer friends, I tend to rush around, filling my At-a-Glance calendar to the brim as I struggle to fit a career, family and relationships into my life. I often complain about how quickly time flies.

Spending time with my mom has taught me the importance of slowing down. I finally understand the meaning of a term I’ve heard a million times: quality time.

Peggy was right. Dating another woman has helped my marriage. It has made me a better husband and father, and hopefully, a better son.

Thanks, Mom. I love you.

From a sermon by Bobby Scobey, Mother’s Day 10 - Real Mothers, 5/3/2010