Single Parenthood

If humidity can melt fats, I’d  be size two by now. If I can link the airconditioner to my metabolism, I’d  be size two by now. Sighs.

I failed my goals today. No mantra, no meditation, no diet, and no running, no scriptures, and I even missed church. My body clock completely went to a halt. But there were good things I did today, too. Sofie made her first cucumber salad. Mikhail told me that I am the prettiest mom ever. He also added during dinnertime  that I am a supermom. At the end of the day, my kids are the only ones that truly matters.  They are even more important than myself. Being a widowed mom is not easy. It’s  a selfless act, even more selfless than being parents. Not that I look down at double parent families, (oh my, how I envy such families!), but in most circumstance, widows never remarry. Dating must be highly considered or the kids will feel unloved. While the parent  is busy with a new love affair, the kids feel inadequate. 

When asked about mommy-dating, my five year  old didn’t  answer. Instead  he asked me this, “Mom, am I not enough?”

He is more than enough to me. The journey is still long and very narrow. It is the road less taken. The path all of us dreads. Am I unlucky? Probably. But a friend of mine assured me that the Lord sees me fit for this task. The Lord knows my strength and He is anxiously waiting and cheering  for me to complete this errand and come home to Him. My task in this mortal life is not to be romantic but to raise His children well. It’s  something that I’m no good at but the hugs and kisses assure me that I’m  doing okay singlehandedly.

One More Light

And yet, I am still grieving.

All my happy moments will always be the saddest. For it is a dreadful reminder that you’re gone. Can you see that I am sad? I will always be sadder than the saddest girl in the world.

When the day passes and darkness lurks;when everyone is calmly tucked in bed; dishes done, and I hear nothing but the whisks of crickets in the night and the croaks of frogs under the timid dance of rain, the subtle cold of emptiness draws on me. How I envy time, for every tick, there’s  a tock. I hear it louder and louder. The silence inside me is deafening. There’s no cure. I turned off the dimming light, and slowly set my pace into a deep sleep. I finally  made it through another day.

Let Me Begin Again

What is good about living is the limitless count of starting over again. President Gordon B. Hinckley, prophet and seer, once  affirmed that man only fails when he quits trying. So I am going to have this second take on my life. Sorrow lurks from the deepest part of me and it is NOT making me happy. Grief is devouring me. Envy is taking control of how I feel towards others. Regrets are swelling in my belly. It is no fun at all. So I decided to begin again. Easier and friendlier this time. I am befriending me. If no one seems to care for me, then I will love myself. The mind is the most powerful tool in the course of history. Allowing  it to dwell in pain and brokenness limits its capacity to grow even more beautiful. I am dictating my mind to start again. One take at a time. Survival mode if I must.

Today is day one. It  is 7: 36 a.m. and I’m  late. 😥 I will start correcting my meals today. Listen beyond words. And offer a hand.  Those shouldn’t  be too hard, eh? It’s like mastering  the “A” before  going  through all the letters in the alphabet. So,  today is my “A”.

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Relationships and Pills

It’s late Saturday afternoon. I sat back and watched the sunset as my kids happily played.  I don’t think I’d ever love again. I lost it. For the first time in a long time, I am sure of something that I thought of for a very long time. It’s going to be a very very lonely walk down Lonesome alley. I tried, believe me, I did. Online or offline. I was told to swim among the fishes’ in the ocean. I awkwardly met men of all sorts. Ones who were special and did not even bother with my weight gain. They were amazing. Yet here goes the “but”… But I don’t think I’d ever be ready for any of it. When things seemingly get serious, I turn my back and ran away. I kept doing it. I feel sorry and sad. Lonely, too. So lonely. I feel so jaded. Relationships work like pills. You only feel good for a moment. Side effects last terribly longer. And I am too scared and scarred for that. So much for an ever after, eh?

The 25th Story

I have been dragging myself to take this big leap, not because I hate writing, (oh goodness I can do it for a lifetime and a day!),  but because I was too scared to dig deep into my pile of memories. But here I am, paddling my way back into shore using only words. 

I’ve been widowed at the age of 30. I’ve been married for seven beautiful years. Now do the math. No, I didn’t marry at 25. I married at 23 on the 25th of March. He died on the 25th of October. When life tosses it’s dice and you unluckily lose, there are no second chances. The whole world as you know it changes. And so my journey began.

My bestfriend died. There is no rebound box for sorrow and grief. What now I can’t say out loud, I want to write it. I want my kids to know how everything all felt. I know it is never going to be easy. My whole world had changed. I was truly the happier than the happiest woman on earth on the 25th. And that fateful 25th crushed all I’ve dreamed of. That dreadful 25th.