Solo Mother

Rolling with the punches

by christina on November 7th, 2006

I finally unzipped the last suitcase just tonight. I hadn’t opened it since we got back from Dubai, as it had mostly formal clothes and those few precious possessions I was loathe to leave to Fate and the whims of an ex-husband to ship.

Who would have thought I could be so homesick for a place that was not my home? I breathed in the faint smells of that faraway land and felt the tears rolling down my cheeks for a place I fear I will never see again. I’ve been avoiding this heartbreak. I haven’t looked at the photos I took while we lived in the UAE. I don’t talk about my time there very often. But God I miss it. I miss the women who loved me like a sister. I miss walking out into the desert and sitting under a sky so full of stars it’s a wonder anyone ever thought to call the night sky black. I remember walking along the Qanat, my son running or riding his bicycle in front of me, in search of friends to play with, a game of football, perhaps.

And I remember the aching loneliness of my marriage, especially within the confines of that isolated space.

I look at this magic house I’ve managed to rent, thanks to the kindness of some churchgoing folk who heard the call and answered my prayer (their words). I look at how far the house has to go and I am reminded of where our lives are, now, starting out from scratch. We’re a lot like this house, right now. Pretty scruffy, hanging on with just whatever can be thrown together in a hurry… but we’ll pretty ourselves up by and by, and come out on the other side with a fresh coat of paint and a new attitude.

I worry that I’ll not be able to afford this house, even with the incredible kindness of the women who have taken me under their wings and reassured me that it’s all going to be OK, that I’m a strong woman who can do anything. I wonder how I’m ever going to leap that gap between what my resume says I can do and what i know I can do. I want to ball up all this fierce courage and give it away to every woman who needs some, every small child standing lost on the playground, every man who suddenly wonders if he can live up to everyone’s expectations of him. Lord knows I’m tired of carrying it all around with me. Courage takes more energy than I’ve got these days. I ache to spend a day just playing with my kid. I hate that I have to work so much, that by the time I get home at night there’s not even enough time to cook dinner and do bath books and bed. This is the way life is right now.

So I’ll sit on our donated mattress on the floor, so comfortable, with sheets another kind lady dropped off on our doorstep, and breathe in the pungent spice of Dubai. I’ll fondle the beaded pashminas and actively think about Besan and Hana and miss them like crazy. I’ll look at the pictures of our camping trips to the desert and try to remember what it felt like to walk with the moonlight just one dune farther, away from the campfire, away from the noise. I won’t think about the marriage that ended. We made the right decision. It’s the incidental heartbreak I have to deal with tonight.

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POSTED IN: divorce, emotional pain, grief, home repair, housing, money, sharing the load