The Road Ahead: Moving Toward Life
Author：Lemon
“Good morning! The stress from my divorce court date pushed me to go for a longer run than usual—and it felt amazing! The scent of osmanthus, acorns, ginkgo nuts, and the fallen leaves of the plane tree. Running outdoors sharpens all five senses, making it such a refreshing experience. A bit tired now, so I'll take it easy next time.”
At a supermarket near the park that opens early, I swapped my usual coffee for a café au lait-flavored protein drink.
I sat on a bench, opened my protein drink, and took a sip as I posted today’s running record in the Sisterhood Running Club group chat.
Almost immediately, my post gets a 'like' emoji stamp.
By the way,I just started running recently, my goal for now is to run for 5 minutes, twice a week.
As someone who used to be a night person, I’m now finding a sense of fulfillment in these quiet morning moments.
***
The clock turns back to three months ago.
I was in a hospital.
Surgery
A vivid red spread across my vision.
It happened on the morning of my abdominal surgery. Just as I was about to leave my private room, everything suddenly blurred. In a haze, I pulled the emergency cord. Chaos erupted around me as I was lifted onto a stretcher.
Massive bleeding occurred, causing my systolic blood pressure to drop to 37 mmHg.
I had fallen into hemorrhagic shock.
My fingers stiffened, digging into my palms. I tried to make them open—"Please, open up"—but they stayed frozen. Soon, my entire body grew numb and rigid. My breaths became shallow, and a cold numbness spread through my body.
"Help me... I d-don’t wanna d-die... My ch-child... w-will be... al-alone..."
My words slurred, hardly making sense.
The surgeon shines a flashlight into my eyes, checking my pupils. In the stainless steel edge of the light, I catch a glimpse of my face. It’s completely white, as if I’ve been covered in kabuki makeup, even down to my lips.
On either side of the bed, the surgeon and a nurse hold my hands. Their warmth reaches me.
"You must have been scared," the surgeon says softly.
Those words fill me with emotion.
"S-scared…" I manage to say.
The unstoppable tears I cannot wipe away stream down my cheeks, carving thin trails before dripping into my ears.
The force rising from deep within me is proof that I am alive, here and now.
Two months and a little more after the surgery
I cautiously went for a run outside.
Step by step, I felt my life being renewed with each step I take. Along with the changing scenery around me, the landscape within my heart slowly began to transform as well.
Stepping forward, the ground beneath me firm, the bounce in my stride steady, feeling the rhythm flowing—just moving ahead.
Over the past four years, I’ve lost so much.
The relationships I built before the separation, the neighborhood I knew so well, my job, my body, once full of energy, my mother—and my uterus.
I could list the things I’ve gained during this time, but I don’t want to wrap it all up neatly.
Because what I’ve gained is still far less than what I’ve lost.
Even so, these losses have become the driving force that keeps me moving forward.
Three months after the surgery
“What about stretching? Strength training? Sit-ups? Can I start running again?” I asked eagerly.
“You’re quite active, aren’t you? Just take it slow and see how it goes,” replied the surgeon, who had held my hand before the operation. She turned away from the monitor, spinning her office chair to face me, and answered with a bright, cheerful laugh.
I’d already started doing all of them, but hearing she didn’t say “no” was a relief.
***
Now, I want to live a life without regrets when it comes to an end.
I want to embrace my final moments thinking, “That was so much fun.”
I’m running with excitement, ready to overcome challenges and create my future.
Life is full of the unexpected. Even so, I believe in myself.
Running sharpens my senses and fills me with energy.
I want to keep challenging myself all the way to the end.
The silver grass sways gently, and the plane trees shift their colors across their entire canopy.
With each step, I feel the acorns beneath my shoes.
Through the hood of my red sweatshirt, I glance up at the crisp, cloudless blue sky.
Ah, I never realized how vast the world outside is.
The soles of my feet enjoy the shuffling sound of dry leaves as I run.
Taking in the sensation, my heart leaps with excitement, looking forward to what’s ahead.
Call for Donations
Thank you for reading this essay to the end. This essay was written by a single mother Lemon for Mother's Day2024. The non-profit organization The nonprofit organization Single Mothers Sisterhood supports the mental and physical health and empowerment of single mothers. Your generous donations will be carefully used to fund the operation of 'Self-Care Workshops for Single Mothers'. Donations are accepted on our donation page here.
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