He Aint Heavy…He my baby-daddy

Senseless argument number 1735. Five years of knowing each other well enough to stay off each other’s sensitive toes have done nothing for us. Our fights are so legendary that some Greek mythology had to be made up about cats and fighting to divert attention. If I could choose between Tyson and that man I’d be in the ring flyin’ like a butterfly, hands surgically attached to both ears. So it makes no sense to take a bullet for my one and only arch nemesis now does it? What treachery when the sisterhood of single mothers bleeds at the aorta from bludgeoned promises, half- hearted efforts of baby daddies. I take this bullet under advisement ladies; my vision is 20/20 on this one.

It is in the bottom of the darkest abyss that infinite, heavy tears of despair will fall. The vessels finally lets up, shatters into a thunderous multitude of pieces and out gushes the river of tears. “Why me. Where are you when I need you. When will it stop”. Not questions but statements of a terrified warrior woman, fearing the death of her light inside that deep, endless, hopeless pit. I hear they call it the last hour before dawn and witness that it indeed is. Tears all wrung out, face properly disfigured from the erratic contorting, as if crying and screwing your face up makes the anguish less devastating, I reached out into the dark one fine day.

There within my reach was a doorknob, firm and real and begging to be twisted open. It took far less strength pushing that door open than it did crying my heart out. The light came streaming in like water from above, bathed my face in a million minute colours that just then blended to form a halo around the now ajar door. I walked out of my own terror. I was free. Once more, I had been transported back to my own life. And through that opening I could see the contents of that very fragile life. Yet something seemed unfamiliar about the portrait of my life.

Where had the food come from? Who had filled my cup to the brim without my consent? How is it that my child had been bathed and fed while I had been lost in my terror and panic? How could do such a generous thing for me when all I had been in my trying times was alone?

But look, his eyes draw me out of the dark with empathy. He bears no ill judgment for the choices I have made and the malice those choices have brought me. Just kindness beckons me out. It is as if (his eyes) say to me, “A little girl needs her mother. She needs her to be well, her rock and hero. You can still be those things and more!” I reach out, in awe of the messenger that clearly Heaven had sent down into my hell to free me.
1735 senseless fights over 5 years and I wouldn’t trade him for anything better. We couldn’t be lovers once and were never to see eye to eye on a great many things since.

How naive I was to grieve our end when in fact there were always many other ways to care for him. Romantic desires had blinded my heart to the sight of a truly good friend, one who didn’t want to divorce himself from the shambles that I was during my most trying hour. We take too long to see people for who they really are once our hearts are wounded by betrayals. In retrospect, you really are a good man, a good father, a flawed person and most importantly a true friend. He aint my man, and thank God too, for all that did was make room for the truly spectacular friend he is!


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