Confessions of an Urban Single Mom … The Upside of Down

I dropped some of my balls this week. There’s no sugar-coating it.

This year has been tough on my sanity and my pocket, and I could feel myself starting to turn blue from holding my breath waiting for some sort of release, some sort of support, for something to let up.

And this week was the week I just couldn’t keep going any more.

I couldn’t deal with my debts. I couldn’t deal with the tension at work. I couldn’t deal with my mountain of responsibilities. I couldn’t look in the mirror and deal with the face that stared back at me. I couldn’t find the courage to face myself and my life.

And so I stopped.

I stopped juggling those balls and I stopped holding my breath.

Instead, I went to the only place I find solace in this concrete jungle we call home – the cemetery. And more specifically, my brother’s grave. And all I did for five straight hours while I sat by his tombstone was breathe and cry and pray.

I didn’t switch my phone on. I didn’t pitch up for my sister’s birthday dinner (I’m sorry, sis). And I didn’t think about The Trolls. All I allowed myself to do, for hours on end, all alone at the cemetery, as close as I could get to the memory of my favourite brother whose laugh I can still hear in my head, whose face I can still conjure up in my mind’s eye, who I miss so utterly at times… was breathe, cry and pray.

Pray for the courage to put one foot in front of the other and keep going no matter how exhausted I am. No matter how afraid I am. No matter how difficult or how treacherous this journey is.

Pray for opportunities to work more so I can earn more and provide more. Pray for my health to remain intact so that my children won’t have to face this cold, cruel world without me. Pray for wisdom, pray for patience, pray for protection, pray for strength… pray for love.

That’s all I did.

I curled up on my brother’s grave, and prayed. Out loud.

And when I was all cried out, I stood up, told him I loved him once more and asked him to keep an eye out for my boys from up there so that they don’t get gulped up by the wrong people and places, as he did when he was alive… And I reminded him of his promise to me on his deathbed and the sign he is supposed to give me when I eventually meet the man who is the perfect fit for The Trolls and I.

As I walked out of that cemetery, I could feel myself breathe easier. I could feel the fog in my head lifting. I could feel my courage returning.

And I made a promise to myself. I promised to stop bashing myself for my imperfections. I promised to remember that this thing, this life, is temporary and that the only thing we leave this earth with is our souls. Not our wallets.

I promised to make more time for myself, for my happiness, for my sanity, for my desires.

I promised myself that from this point onwards, I’m taking it one ball at a time.

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