The Weight Of Goodbye
922 Words
A knock on the door.
“Wake up,” my mother said softly. “It’s a long distance to your father’s place.”
“I’m not going,” I replied, pulling the blanket over my head.
“What?” she said sharply. “No… no, Tebelo. You have to attend your father’s funeral.”
Silence filled the room.
“I know it’s hard,” she continued, her voice gentler now, “but this is the only way to find closure, my son.”
“Can I come in?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I’m not welcome there. I told you.”
My chest tightened.
“She lied,” I said, my voice shaking. “She lied in front of her family and friends. She blamed me for my father’s death.”
My mother sighed deeply and entered the room anyway.
“After all these years,” I went on, “she denied me my father—and now this?”
“Hey… hey, Tebelo,” my mother said, sitting beside me. “This is not the time or the day to fight about who did what, okay?”
“Please go on my behalf,” I whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere without you,” she replied firmly. “Your brother Edward and I will be there. We’ll support you.”
She stood up and moved toward my closet.
“Go to the bathroom,” she said. “I’ve prepared everything.”
I didn’t argue.
“What will you be wearing?” she asked, already searching.
“I forgot to tell you,” I said quietly. “Mr Mabaso can’t make it.”
She paused.
“Oh… then it must be serious. You know he’s been with you since day one.”
“He has a business meeting,” I replied. “Short notice.”
“And Kwanele?” she asked.
“Probably on his way to work,” I said. “Why?”
“We’ll need two taxis.”
“Oh—about that,” I added. “Kwanele arranged transport. A friend of his will take us.”
She nodded. “Okay. Everything is fine then.”
On the way there, a neighbor’s words echoed in my head.
If you’ve been through something like this with your father… just go to honor his death.
Attend the service. Go to the cemetery. Be like everyone else. Then come back.
It won’t be easy—but try to hold yourself together.
We arrived a few minutes late.
My family and I sat at the very back, blending in with the rest of the mourners. I kept my head down, my heart loud in my chest.
Then a car pulled up.
Everyone stepped out dressed in black—even the children. Something about the way they moved together made my chest tighten.
The service ended. The burial went on quietly.
But even my brother Edward noticed it.
Some of the people who arrived late kept glancing back at us—again and again—like they were searching for something they couldn’t name.
As we were about to leave, a young woman approached the gate.
“Hey,” she said with a smile. “My mother sent me to call you.”
“Your mother?” I asked. “And you are?”
“Oh—sorry. I’m Fufu.”
“Okay, Fufu,” I said, looking around. “Where’s your mother?”
“She’s there,” she said, pointing. “Next to the silver-grey car.”
I saw her waving.
“Oh, I see her,” I said. “Lead the way. It’s hot, hey.”
She laughed.
“Dumela, o jwang?” the woman greeted warmly.
“Ngiyaphila, Mama. Wena unjani?” I replied, letting her hear the language I spoke.
Fufu burst out laughing as another woman stepped closer.
“I hear you speaking isiZulu,” she said. “Please forgive my sister—she doesn’t understand isiZulu, but she tries.”
We all laughed softly. The first genuine laughter of the day.
“My name is Palesa,” she said. “Fufu is my daughter. This is my sister, Kgauhelo.”
She looked straight into my eyes.
“I know you’re wondering why we called you.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I replied weakly, trying to joke.
She nodded slowly.
“We’ve been watching you. We saw you during the service.”
My chest tightened.
“I’ll go straight to the point,” she said. “You look exactly like our brother, Richard—the man we just laid to rest.”
The world tilted.
“Did you just say… your brother?” I asked, my voice barely holding.
“Yes,” she said.
“He was my uncle,” Fufu added quietly.
Something inside me shattered.
“He was my father,” I said.
The words escaped before I could stop them.
Tears came without warning. My tongue failed me. I stuttered—harder than ever.
From a distance, I saw my mother and brother watching, frozen.
Someone brought a chair. I sat down because my legs could no longer hold me.
“Are you his mother?” Kgauhelo asked gently.
“Yes,” my mother replied, rushing forward. “Yes… Tebelo, are you okay?”
She brushed my back softly as I broke down.
And in that moment—
among strangers who were suddenly family—
I realized I hadn’t come here for closure.
I had come to be found.
- Writer
