This weekend was not supposed to go this way. I was not supposed to be here, at home, typing away while my kids snore upstairs and the wind whips the trees around like a mad toddler in my backyard. But the realities of being a suddenly-single parent hit home on Friday, and it was a crushing lesson.

My bags were packed. Sitting by the back door, as a matter of fact. My ticket and boarding pass were printed and laying atop the bags. The laundry was done and folded, the medical releases were signed and copied, the friends were lined up to take the kids, carpool was taken care of, rides to and from the airport were arranged, food was bought for the friends’ house and kid-sitting- all my ducks were in a row. Except that I’m a mom. And I am now a mama without a husband, without second fiddle to back up my occasionally thready alto. It’s all me, all the time.

So when Abby woke up Thursday night with tummy troubles, my own stomach lurched- but not for the same reasons. When she was up off-and-on the rest of the night, wimpering in my bed, crying for me, and basically being miserable, my plans completely evaporated. I cannot leave. I cannot leave a sick child. I cannot leave a sick child with friends who have three of their own children, who would get the crud from my child. I cannot. I does not matter how much I planned, how much I wanted or needed the time. It does not matter what I hoped to accomplish in meeting with friends or potential business contacts. None of it mattered. I am mom. It’s all me, all the time.

Friday morning, I cancelled my flight, I called my rides, I called my friends and choked out a message, I sent the boys off to school, and I curled up with Abby and cried quietly while she watched Franklin. It wasn’t about me. It’s just how it is now, and I had better get used to it.

I know I’m not alone. I know countless women have walked this path I find myself unexpectedly on. I know it can be done, and that helps. I can stay focused if I keep my eyes up. If I look down, the vertigo and fear and sharp rocks of doubt and uncertainty scare the hell out of me, and I start to lose my balance. But, if I keep my eyes up, focused on the light peeking over the horizon, then I know I am not alone, and that I can do this.

By Friday afternoon, Abby was bouncing around the house, right as rain. I wish mamas healed as quickly as three-year-olds.