The morning felt heavier than most.
Not because the sun refused to shine—but because my heart did.
I lay under the blanket, staring into nothing, listening to my mother moving around the house. Pots. Footsteps. Silence in between. The kind of silence that carries grief.
A knock broke through my thoughts.
“Wake up… it’s a distance to your father’s place,” my mother said softly.
I didn’t move.
“I’m not going,” I replied from beneath the blanket.
There was a pause. Then the door creaked open.
“What? No… Tebelo, you have to go. It’s your father’s funeral,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “I know it’s hard, but this is the only way to get closure, my son.”
Closure.
That word felt foreign to me.
How do you get closure from a man you barely got the chance to fully know?
How do
