When my father passed away, the only thing I could think about was my mom. She never cried so much in my presence but that day I saw another side of her that scared me.
Four years later few months after my sister's funeral, I found myself crying like my mother, I was reading a story about a lady and her brother who had cookies on christmas baked by their grandmother during the festive period, also how christmas was with only three of them and the cookies of course.
I related so much to her story, felt as if she knew mine; that for the first time since my father's passing, christmas was screaming lonely for me. My late sister shadowed his presence with her advice and caring. I remember when I passed matric, she bought me my first cake, a braai was organized inviting my close friends and booze was also on the menu. I ended up losing the new shoes she bought me. Her laughter when I came back the following day, dirty like a pig, just make me want to cry again.
She made serious mistakes which she always emphasized that I must not make, teaching me the importance of thanking those that are there for me. Her singing voice was so refreshing even though I would hide her Celine Dion cassettes, so to avoid noise on the summer day.
Thanks to her I learned to take it one day at a time with my son, so that I can be a good father to him and an uncle to my two niece.