I can almost hear the sadness in his voice, but he quickly masks it, as he turns to loos at me “I don’t have long to live.”

“How long do you have?” I ask as my voice breaks. “12 months.”

How do one not cry at situations like these? When your heart can’t handle any more of the bad news, but everything just keeps coming and coming. I want nothing but to cry my eyes out and roll myself to the floor and shout at God, curse him for making me feel while he knew that he will just take again.

I want to scream, to scream at the universe for failing me and Mbongeni.

But I don’t, I just hold his hand and squeeze it “I’ll be here just like you have been there for me.” And I mean it, I’ll always be there for him in each and every step of the way.

***

And I kept to my word, when he came out of the hospital we were always together, mostly afraid of not being with him. We did everything that was on his bucket list, we kissed on the rain, we had a picnic late at night, went into an opera show and we even did a karaoke where we sang horribly but we had a good night.

“I want you to wear that red dress of yours that we bought together on my funeral day, and no tears because I will be free from this pain so, please don’t cry.” He said when we were taking our usual walks “I want to wear my sweatpants and my favorite Rigby and Mordecai t-shirt.”

On my birthday he gave me a big teddy bear that he made me promise I will cuddle if I ever miss him. We named him Zen. We even went to jump at the tallest building even though he was afraid he still did it for me.

He did not reach 12 months, he only made it to 4 months, and my heart felt like it was ripped apart when I received that one phone call from Nomsa. I screamed that night; I wailed like a baby even though I made a promise that I won’t cry.

We were laughing hours before he passed, we made plans, plans to go and ride a boat the following.

It all felt like a horrible dream that I could not wake up from, no matter how much I tried to wake myself.

I wore a red dress and my vans just like I promised him, but with no wig this time. I was just me, the real me.

I stood up when the pastor called my name. I stood there as I looked at everyone that has attended and took a deep breath “He made me promise that there will be no tears. I guess I failed on that part.” I said wiping the fallen tear. “He told me he loves me that night he died, we had so many things we wanted to do. He lived a full life even on days he knew he was dying but he still lived a full life, he still smiled, and still loved. I love you Mbongeni, I believe that I will never be able to love another person as much as I have loved you and you will always live in my heart.”

I went and placed a rose on his coffin and went to sit down, and soon soil was poured on his marron casket.

I hugged Nomsa before she left, and I stayed behind, I looked as fresh grave and sank down on the ground and cried. There was a cross written Mbongeni Nxumalo born 28 April 2003 and date of death 03 February 2023.

I started walking back, surprised to still see my mother’s car.