Right or Left--Never Wrong

This is just a small, innocent memory, but it stands out in mind, even to this day. The reason is that it was the exact moment I learned about unconditional love.

I must have been no older than 4, but the conversation I had with my mother synapsed together so many neurons, so firmly, that it rose above the mental ocean of my 4-year-old mind. At that age, thoughts ebb and flow; some stick, some don't. This one did, and no swells of churning whitecaps could wash it away. It was a castle made of--not sand--but blood, clotting harder than titanium. Those synapses raised a cortical island protruding to the limitless sky forever in my mind.

"Mother?" I asked. I was in the bathtub, probably old enough to be left alone in the water, but she didn't think so. As such, these tub-time conversations were common. All just part of the quotidian family life as we know it. Or at least, as I knew it.

"Yes?"

"Um, if someone said you had to cut off your arm or have someone cut off my arm, what would you say?" One of a thousand thousand what-if questions that tub-time evoked. I don't know what surprised me more--her answer or the immediacy of her answer.

"Mine, of course," she answered without even thinking. Like a spinal reflex.

I was stunned. Four years of age is a time when you're still navigating between the id and the ego, the self and the rest, the œdipal and the solipsistic, the one and the many. Therefore, her answer, "Of course," gave me pause. Little stupid, immature, pediatric pause.

"Really?" I asked, just to confirm. "Your arm...your whole arm?"

"Well, sure," she said, as if she were talking about water being wet or offering to dry my hair.

I mean...I know she was my Mom. I get that now. But an arm is a pretty big deal. It was a pretty good feeling to know that my arm was second in line for any arm chopping-off maniac that might be lurking. She didn't even have to think about it.

I would have thought about it. Maybe I'd say the right thing, but I'd definitely think about it first. An arm is worth thinking over.

Today I realize this was apples and oranges. It is a mother's inclination to--"of course"--sacrifice anything for her child. Give her life, even. (So, is an arm really that big a deal?) The reason this was oranges, too, is because I was not obligated to return the gesture, from an existential point of view. I was the child. I didn't have to give up an arm for her. It wasn't a two-way sentiment.

Or should I?

Which, of course, was the next question. From her: "What about you?"

"What about me, what?" I asked, but I knew. I knew.

"What if someone asked you whose arm to cut off?"

My answer was not so immediate. I started thinking about my arms, my hands, my fingers, my legs, feet, and toes, and on and on. I think my answer answered her question and she wasn't even upset. Even at that age I knew I was right-handed. That's what I was thinking about.

"Can I pick which arm?" I asked.

"No, she said, because it would be none of yours. Just mine. But that's silly." She held up a towel in both of her highly-valued hands. "You won't have to pick anything to lose while I'm around. Ever. Here, lemme dry your hair."

I had forgotten about this until after she had died at the age of 96. My brothers and I had to give a little talk at her funeral service, and I just went on about how much I loved her, how great a Mom she was, and the usual crap you'd expect.

And then I remembered the tub-time amputation conversation and realized that she was the one who taught me about unconditional love. That's what I should have spoken about. Besides its obvious truism, unconditional love, I remember now, is immediate and thoughtless. And so very real. And forever.