She couldn’t make it to the sports games, nor the parents meetings
She couldn’t sit down at night and go through your homework. Your school diary was never signed and you never had the reply slip ready, on time.
She could not read the bedtime stories and tuck you into bed. Nor prepare your sports clothes for the physical education class.
The cake sales. The fudge making and corn popping. She missed that too.
She couldn’t always drop you and pick you up after every extracurricular activity nor afford the piano and violin classes or the extra add maths or the horse riding or the new hockey stick.
It was never from a lack of love, nor a lack of care.
It was from the endless heat. The scorching sacrifice made each day. The early mornings and late nights. The consuming knowing that each day carried the weight –to find the means for her owns survival. You. The means necessary so that hers would never be found lacking. Each day carried the labor pains, wanting that owkahe ‘afane nabanye abantwana.’
So that her child would look like other kids, tidy and ready and fed.