A HEART REPLACED, chapter Eight
HEART REPLACEDChapter eight
MKHUSELI ’S POV
This has to be a nightmare; it can’t be real life. Someone needs to shake me awake and tell me I’m dreaming.” Londeka can’t do this to me; who does she think she’s leaving me with? I didn’t even get to have a final conversation with her, not even a goodbye or a last “I love you.” Couldn’t she have waited for me to arrive at the hospital? My heart is shattered into a million pieces; I’ve lost my soulmate, my confidante, the love of my life, my wife. She’s gone, and never coming back.
She was more than just a wife to me; she was my everything. Her smile lit up my world, and her laughter filled my heart with joy. How could she leave me behind, alone and broken? I can’t imagine a future without her by my side. Our love story has been brutally cut short, and I’m left with only memories and tears. Oh, Londeka, my love, why did you have to go? You were my rock, my shelter, my forever home. Your departure has left a gaping hole in my heart, and I fear it can never be filled. My heart is shattered, and I’m left to pick up the pieces of a love that will never be again.
“It’s okay, Bafo, don’t hold back, let your tears flow,” Khulekani says, squeezing my shoulder.
“Tears won’t bring her back; they won’t undo the pain. I need her laughter, her voice, her love. I need my Londeka, my partner, my friend. How can I cry when my heart is screaming for her return? How can I let go when every fiber of my being is holding on to the memories we shared? You tell me to cry, Khulekani, but my tears are stuck in my throat, refusing to fall because they know that crying won’t bring her back to me.”i sigh holding my forehead ,
“My mind is racing, trying to make sense of this cruel fate. I keep thinking that maybe if I had been there, maybe if I had held her hand a little tighter, maybe if I had told her how much I loved her one more time... maybe she wouldn’t have left me. The what-ifs are consuming me, Khulekani. They’re eating away at my soul, leaving me with a gaping hole that can never be filled. I’m trapped in this darkness, unable to escape the pain that’s suffocating me. Tell me, how do I breathe again? How do I find my way back to the world of the living when my heart is buried with my wife?”
“I’m sorry, Bafo,” Khulekani says, his voice barely above a whisper, struggling to find the right words to comfort his grieving brother. He rises to leave, knowing that sometimes silence is the best solace, leaving Mkhuseli lost in thought, staring into the void. A part of him had prepared himself for the worst, knowing Londeka’s illness was terminal, but he hadn’t expected her to leave so soon.
The arrival of the Mbatha family and other relatives, including Bab’Thubana and his wife, only adds to the sea of emotions. Everyone is hurting for Mkhuseli, not just because of their connection to Londeka, but because no one deserves to suffer as she did. Her cancer had taken its toll, and now she’s finally at peace, free from pain, in a better place.
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Mkhuseli slowly walks into the dimly lit room, his eyes cast downward, his face a mask of grief. He's been quiet all day, ever since they brought Londeka's body home. The weight of his loss is palpable, like a heavy fog that clings to him, suffocating him.
As he enters, the soft murmur of condolences from family and in-laws fills the air. They're all seated on the floor, surrounded by candles and traditional mourning attire. Mkhuseli's eyes scan the room, taking in the somber atmosphere, before finally settling on the empty chair beside his brother, Khulekani.
Without a word, Mkhuseli collapses into the chair, his body language screaming of exhaustion and emotional draining. His family and in-laws exchange worried glances, but no one dares to break the silence. They know that Mkhuseli's silence is not just grief, but a cry for help, a plea to process the unbearable pain of losing his partner, his friend, his everything.
The room remains still, the only sound the soft sniffling and muffled sobs of those around him. Mkhuseli's silence is a scream that echoes through the room, a reminder of the devastating loss that has shaken them all.
People have already gathered in the house, singing and paying their respects. Neighbors have come to offer their condolences, and surprisingly, church members are also present, singing hymns. It’s a stark contrast to Londeka and Mkhuseli’s beliefs, as neither of them was religious, but in this moment, the outpouring of support and grief transcends their differences.
Mkhuseli sits on a chair, adhering to the cultural tradition that a man doesn't sit on a mattress after his wife's passing, as it's considered disrespectful to her memory. Instead, he chooses a chair, positioned near the bed or in a separate area, as a sign of respect and to allow himself time to process his grief. In accordance with custom, a relative has kindly offered to sit on the mattress, providing a comforting presence and support during this challenging time.
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NARRATED
The sun casts a somber glow over the crowded funeral procession, a sea of mournful faces gathered to bid farewell to Londeka. The air is heavy with grief, the scent of incense and tears hanging like a cloud over the mourners.
Mkhuseli, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, stands beside the casket, his hand trembling as he clutches a single white rose. He's flanked by his brother, Khulekani, and other family members, their faces etched with sorrow.
The funeral director begins the eulogy, Mkhuseli's gaze drifts to the crowd, searching for a glimpse of comfort amidst the ocean of faces.
The pastor's voice rises and falls, sharing stories of Londeka's life, her laughter, and her love. Mkhuseli's thoughts wander, memories of their time together flooding his mind like a bittersweet torrent.
The service concludes, the pallbearers, including Mkhuseli's uncle heand Khulekani, lift the casket, carrying it to the waiting hearse. The mourners follow, a slow procession snaking its way to the gravesite.
The sound of weeping and wailing fills the air as Londeka is lowered into her final resting place. Mkhuseli's rose petals flutter to the ground, a symbol of his love and farewell to his beloved wife.
As the dirt is shoveled over the casket, Mkhuseli's heart shatters into a million pieces, the pain of his loss threatening to consume him whole. He feels like he's burying a part of himself, leaving behind a piece of his soul in that dark, cold grave.
The gathering drew to a close, with everyone receiving a generous share of food to take home, and some lingering to savor the remaining dishes. The crowd dispersed, a few family members departed, while others stayed behind to assist with the cleanup, ensuring that every last detail was taken care of.
also to leave soon after the burial but Ntate Moruti asked me to stay. I am not really interested in any of their family dynamics
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NONHLAKANIPHO’S POV
This week has been a never-ending nightmare for me, filled with tears and sorrow. My heart feels like it's been shredded into pieces, soaked in a bitter mixture of pain and grief, and is being slowly roasted over an open flame. I'm missing my mother more than ever, and the thought of funerals only brings back painful memories of my mother's passing. No one deserves to leave this world prematurely, regardless of circumstances. Londeka's passing is a cruel reminder of this, taken from us far too soon by the cruel hand of cancer.
Most people left soon after the burial. This is the thing about losing someone, after the burial friends and relatives go back to their lives and leave you with the reality that kicks in. The realisation that someone is never coming back hits at this very moment.
My plan was also to leave soon after the burial but Baba asked me to stay. I am not really interested in any of their family dynamics not today especially.And to make matters worse, MaMnguni's accusatory gaze follows me everywhere, blaming me for her daughter's death - as if I had any control over the merciless force of cancer. It's absurd, and I can't help but wonder when I became the target of her anger and sorrow.The whole week, she has been throwing insults at me, I feel sorry for her
She looks devastated, her face looks almost overcooked from all the crying. My heart almost breaks for her but she has shown me he had never loved me she only pretended too .
We are all seated in the lounge, together with a few other relatives who are still around.
Whatever is about to be discussed, I can sense it's going to infuriate me. I can feel it in my bones - it's not going to align with my views. Why are we even having this meeting today, of all days, right after a funeral? Couldn't they have delayed it for another week? Ever since that first meeting, I've developed a strong aversion to family gatherings, and it's a feeling that's persisted to this day.
...
To be continued…
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