Pheli Love

One

Mohau⋆𐙚

No one prepares you for that empty feeling that abides in you as you watch the casket being lowered further into the ground.

No one prepares you for the silence that envelops you after everyone returns to their lives.

No one prepares you.
No one warns you.
There was no manual to handling death.
Trust me I checked.

My mother's death still baffled me. I mean she was healthy and active. At forty-five she lived as if she were twenty-five.
Death didn't suit my mother.
Not when she was full of life.
Death felt like an insult.

It had been a month since my mother had passed on and time truly didn't heal my wounds; it only kicked them.

It was 13:45pm and I had finally sat down at the dining table after spring cleaning for the fifth time this week.
I turned the house upside and moved the furniture a thousand times but I was never satisfied.

I couldn't sit still.
My mind would be overwhelmed with my thoughts.
I couldn't allow myself to go there. There was no time to spiral.

My head fell into my hands as I took deep breaths to fight off the panic attack.
Tears burned my cheeks as I failed to stop them from falling.
'This is all too much.'

In front of me was a foreclosure letter from the bank. It was notice to move out of our house.

My mother came from Sekhukhune, Limpopo. She had come to Johannesburg fresh out of highschool; in hopes of pursuing her acting dreams.
She ended up falling pregnant at 19 years old. My father was a white Afrikaner who happened to be married. My mother didn't know of his status. She had fallen in love and was over the moon when she realised she was pregnant.

Though unconventional, she thought that as long as they had each other, they would get through this.
When she told my father, he was infuriated.
My mother's fantasies were crushed when he began to tell her that he was a husband and father.
He told her that he wanted nothing to do with her or that 'vloek' that she carried.

She carried so much shame with her since that day.
With that she gave up her dreams of being an actress to take up odd jobs to take care of me.
I carried the guilt with me.
The burden of knowing that you ruined someone's life is heart-wrenching.

She worked as a domestic worker my entire life and put me through school and eventually university.
She made sure we ate food everyday; without fail.
She taught me true resilience.

My brother Aj, was born when I turned sixteen. My mother had finally gotten married to Aj's father and they had him a year later.
Aj was my heartbeat. My ray of sunshine.
I didn't know that I could truly be happy until Aj was born.

Aj's Father, Katlego was the perfect father and husband to our little family.
The first 2 years of Aj's life were more than I could imagine.
This was until Aj got diagnosed with Autism or ASD; Asperger's Syndrome to be specific.

His diagnosis didn't change our perception of Aj. To us, he was our precious baby boy; or so I thought.
Katlego started behaving out of character.
He refused to carry Aj or even acknowledge him.
At first I overlooked this behaviour and made up many excuses for his behaviour but overtime the narrative became clearer.

Katlego finally had enough and packed his bags and left.
This was 'too much for him' and he 'didn't sign up for this'.
My heart was shattered by his decision.
He blamed my mother for everything. Instead of loving Aj despite the agenda that society pushed; he took the selfish way out.