Confessions of an Urban Single Mom … The Black Panther Returns

We were thick as thieves practically all of our lives, my bestie The Black Panther and I. No matter where we found ourselves blown by the winds of change, no matter which corner of the country, no matter which man we found ourselves next to… ours is a love story for the ages.

And for some or the other inexplicable spiritual reason, just like a botched up case of star crossed lovers, we found the nuances of our trials and tribulations reverberated and matched each other in shape, size, colour and timing.

We were both weird and wacky single mothers to two adorably naughty boys. Both employed in the same industry. And both of us had our hearts trampled on, ripped out and discarded many more times than the average human being can ever be expected to take, and still stand.

We are tough. We are gritty. And we have man balls the likes of which very few gentlemen folk can honestly say they have been blessed with.

Hand-in-hand we found ourselves buckling down, swiping the sweat from our brows, wiping the tears from our eyes and playing both mom and dad to our gang of adorable misfits, The Awesome Foursome.

Our lives – that of me and the Black Panther – was never easy, and as single adult women roughing this cold, hard terrain alone, chances are pretty big that it never will be.

That is why we needed each other so much. That is why each knows the other’s number out of their heads. That’s why our homes are always open to the other, come rain or shine, morning or night, payday or broke-day.

And so we did the only thing that two single girls doubling up as single moms could do… we held each other down. Through. It. All.

We cried like babies, we fought like maniacs, we celebrated like we didn’t have a care in the world, we plotted and planned, we helped each other off the ground, we held each other’s hands.

And then, just like one can come to expect from an imperfect life in an imperfect world… The Black Panther and I broke up.

A gremlin masquerading as mutual friend did a ‘he said, she said’, mass miscommunication ensued, insults were hurled, hearts were broken.

I did what I always do when I get knocked down to the floor: I cried in silence and hid away. And my bestie did what she always does when she gets hurt: cry in silence and hide away.

Until we could no longer.

Until we both realised, that as much bullsh*t as we could take from the world on any given day… the one bit of bull poo-poo we couldn’t handle was being without each other.

Because you can survive without your heart…. But you can’t live without it. You can’t laugh without it. You can’t dance without it. You can’t stand tall without it. And you certainly can’t love without the very thing that makes loving possible.

Our Big Make Up – you might think would be a dramatic, elaborate affair but it actually took all but a couple of seconds.

There were two glasses of wine, a multitude of hugs, lots and lots of laughter, and enough love to light up the world.

It’s good to be home.

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