30 September, Renaissance

Bayede would be two years old today. I woke up to sit up straight, and somehow, I could feel that Yanga was up, too. He just won’t wake up to sit up as well, or else we’ll both weep. There’s a lot of “tread with caution” in the air today. Do I say it first? Does he say it first? Where is the modern-day article on how modern-day parents grieve when you need it?

It’s actually raining today, and I’m pretty sure the heavens, too, are angry, and there is a war between the will of God and our own interpretation of life. I want to go make a cup of tea so that I can fall asleep again. I want to ask Yanga if he would also like some, but he’s pretending to be asleep, so do I go along with the act or just cause disruption?

Everything feels so complicated, and to call it complicated doesn’t feel like I’m telling the truth about how everything is and how it feels. I think I’m going to call my mom to say what, though. I know this is as awkward for her as it is for me. I have so many people supporting me, but I can’t call or reach out to any of them. I know they don’t know how to be there for me. I have so many questions and so many thoughts; don’t even get me started on the feelings!

30 September, Ulwandle Lutshile

It feels like I’m learning to walk again. I understand now why Bayede always wanted me to stay by her side to cheer for her each step. You need someone to cheer you on, someone on your side, someone to help you up after you fall. I thought that losing my father was the hardest knock of my life. This is beyond that.

Fezile and I had a conversation about my going to London, and we had postponed it until after Bayede turned one. I don’t know why. It just felt right to put it off until then.

The resistance to leave the country that I felt still haunts me. It’s weird now that I think about it. What was I going to do if I was here? I guess when it’s time, it’s time. How do you accept that for a child that is only a year old? There’s nothing I can do, and I think that’s been the hard part to accept. All the money I have made, the love from my wife, the support from my family, and being part of the board members that handle the economy of Africa means nothing and can’t bring my little light back.

There’s no prayer, no hymn that can bring her back; nothing can, and I have to live with that every day. I think Fezile doesn’t know how to talk to me about it yet. I think we are both trying to find the language in our weakened hearts and tongues.

We’ve tried keeping the date nights still happening when we can, which has been a strange experience. We don’t watch animation in the cinema, and no ballet shows that have been created from fairytales because Bayede loved Snow White. We don’t watch cartoons together at home, and I think we secretly watch Bluey, though, when the other person is not here. I think this is how we are grieving together.

Time: we need to give it some time.

22 June, Learning to try again

I choose life. I choose to be alive for my child, who’s on this side and the other at the same time. My dreams need me alive; all the people who love me and root for me are rallying behind me to continue to fight for my life, and that’s what I aim to do.

It’s been a year since we’ve buried Bayede, and our families are here to show support and to cleanse us. It’s so strange, and I want to ask them to leave. Not in an arrogant way but in a Yanga, and I just want to be by ourselves kind of way. Please give us space alone, we need it, kind of way. But then again, I think these are people who love us so much that no matter the weather, time or place, they would drop everything to be there for us and to make sure we do not lack.

I thank God for that. I thank God that we are not alone.