Warning: this post contains no fuckery. It does not address your cousin’s ratchet weave, nor your sister’s five ne’er-do-well babydaddies. It is also longer than your pastor’s Sunday sermon on Easter.  (Hallelewwwyerrr!) That said, either click your mouse elsewhere on this site for haute mess posts, or saddown and buckle up. XOXO, Eva ::curtsies::

This morning, I woke up in a fabulous mood. I truly looked around and felt blessed by everything I saw. One of those happy “I love my hair/shoes/outfit/neighbors/job” type moods. Till I read the paper.

Now, I make it a point to skim the headlines that have to do with children being harmed. As a mother, they affect me SO deeply. I cry buckets at stories of that nature. (Before motherhood, I was a lot tougher. Nothing made me cry! ::pops collar of pimp cape:: They tell you those pregnancy hormones will wear off…but they don’t!) I can’t take it on anymore. So I skim and skip. But this one… well, let’s reverse for  a moment.

In 2005, I got the shock of my life when I found out the man I was in a relationship with was cheating on me.  Without going into details, blindsided doesn’t even begin to describe it. The person was truly my partner of several years in a lot of ways, and this was the last thing I ever expected. It was a terrible moment and a life altering revelation. Worst of all: my 5 year old son was there as the drama and pain unfolded, seeing everything I tried to hide.

I sank into a depression. Despite having a demanding Wall Street job, I couldn’t concentrate or focus on it. My boss said “take a week off E, come back fresh, the markets will be here”. Usually diligent about running my home, I let unopened bills stack to the side, not caring about deadlines or late fees. It was all I could do to manage to get out of bed in the morning, feed my son and get him to preschool. Everything else?  ::shrugs:: That would have to wait. I lost 30 pounds due to sadness…in a very short time.  (The Break-Up Diet is SO real y’all…) I didn’t eat, could barely speak without crying, and sleep was often my only reprieve from what I prayed was just a bad waking dream. Amid calls to my home from the 3rd party, webs of lies came to light, little by little, and it seemed that each day brought a new betrayal. I was adrift and lost in heartache, and doing a horrible job trying to fake it for people.

All the while, my son was there…perhaps not understanding the situation, but knowing my mood wasn’t right. I know I was short tempered with him at times – unfairly so. I know I wasn’t my usual caring and loving self to him. He is my WORLD…and yet I struggled to fake-smile my way through bath time.

Usually composed and together, I had fallen completely apart on several fronts.

Thankfully, my amazing girlfriends rallied around me. They forced me out of bed on my free weekends when my son visited his dad, determined I wouldn’t answer phone calls and cry all day.  They did my dishes that had piled, dragged me out to see sunlight, reminded me that I had a good life, with more than a man to make it so.  After a good long while, I returned to my normal self and routines, though it would be some time before I was in another relationship.

As the fog lifted and I looked back, I couldn’t believe I had ever let it all slip like that – especially where my son paid the price in dealing with my moods, short temper and general sadness. That’s not the woman I am at all! But I say all this to say: sometimes we focus on the wrong shit when, no matter how overwhelmed and hurting we are, our children have to come first.  The pain any man on this earth could cause me is way smaller than the greatness of my love for my son. That experience set my priorities straight from their temporary tilt, and thankfully I knew my son and I had a life ahead to keep them straight.

Skip ahead to this morning. My heart broke when I read the NY Times article (http://nyti.ms/eoxR88) about Lashanda Armstrong driving her minivan into the Hudson River…her four children inside with her. In a last moment of clarity, she realized her mistake…but it was too late. Her eldest child, 10 years old, the same age as my son, swam out through a window and flagged down help. But no help would arrive in time. Reports estimate the minivan sank to the river’s muddy bottom in two minutes, with four souls taking their water-filled last breaths in that time. Her 10 year old, La’Shaun Armstrong, would go on to tell authorities that his mother had learned his stepfather was cheating on her, and that arguments about infidelity precipitated this event. (source: NY Times)

What I’m going to say is going to sound sick. Twisted. Absolute fucknuts even. Ready? Okay. I understand how Ms. Armstrong hit a rock bottom moment of painful hurt and couldn’t climb up from it. But sadly, in that split second of rock bottom, there was no one present in the room to tell her to snap out of it. Consequently, she made a horrifically wrong choice, that cost four lives on earth…and, quite possibly, one child’s every waking moment for the rest of his time here.  The NY Daily News examines how her twisted mindstate might’ve convinced her that she was taking the children with her out of love for them, rather than leaving them motherless in the world, in an act of altruistic filicide. (http://nydn.us/ekHKVB)

My moment of slipping, though far less serious than Ms. Armstrong’s, taught me so much about myself as a mother and as a woman. How could I have let a man’s infidelity take my whole life down like that? Who was he for his absence to warrant more attention than my son’s presence? I kicked myself SO hard over it. But it is a mistake for which I’ve since forgiven myself, and know I’ll never repeat.

So I’m asking you all, mothers and future mothers, to do this one thing: never let a romantic disappointment outshine the joy that is your life and your child. As a single mother who does date, it is ESPECIALLY important to keep perspective clear. It is all too easy to get mired in the hurt and pain of failed love. In those moments when you can’t see beyond the black ache in your heart, don’t give up. Talk to someone. Anyone. Go outside and breathe for a moment more than you think you need to. Count to 10 and then to 100. Depression is a real thing, with real consequences. If you let its grip on your life take hold, it’s all too easy to let it take control.

I wish someone had been there in Lashanda Armstrong’s home with her when she picked up the car keys. I wish she had had someone to say “that’s crazy – let’s open a bottle of wine and Facebook stalk this heaux”.  I wish that she had looked at her children and seen that their love for her was greater than this pain that WOULD heal one day…that they could have been part of the healing.

But it wasn’t to be.

I wish I could tell La’Shaun Armstrong how brave and blessed he is, despite the tragic loss that currently envelops him. I pray that he gets the attention and help he will need to survive this life ahead.

This afternoon, when I pick my son up from school, I’m going to hug him super close. Closer than normal even. And though I know he’ll wriggle a bit and say “Moooom, c’mon dude…you’re squeezing me…”, I won’t care. I’m going to thank him for being my clown, my comfort, my world and my light.  I slipped once, but never again.