Tell stories about my life.
That’s a sentence from my boyfriend’s final letter. He wanted us to tell stories about his life at the memorial service. I was too heartbroken to think of any story to share at the memorial service. I did say something but there were no stories about his life. This is day 2 of my isolation while I heal from covid and I miss my boyfriend terribly. He always took care of me when I was sick so I’m consumed by thoughts of him and how warm I would be in his presence right now.
I even dreamt of him last night. A very short but warm dream. I dreamt I was standing by the road and I saw his car appear. I squinted to see who it was cos finally now my dream self has caught up to my reality. I no longer dream of him alive like I did in the first few months. So I was checking to see who of the two surviving brothers was driving. As he drove past I thought it was the younger brother so I ran after the car. But when he stopped and got out of the car it was my boyfriend. I screamed his name and fell into his arms in the warmest embrace ever. Then the dream ended. He came to give me the hug I so desperately needed from him. See why I have no choice but to believe in a after life? Cos what are the odds that would happen?!
Anyway, my boyfriend was the most Caucasian black man I ever had the pleasure of knowing. He spoke English only. Yes, in our worst and best moments we still communicated in English. LOL I still don’t know how I managed that. Must have been love! I tried teaching him my mother tongue but he wasn’t interested. He said he had gotten that far in his life with English only so what use was another language at his big age. I couldn’t argue with that. Ugh I miss my white man.
He had not-a-black-child’s habits also. Like openly talking back to adults. He always told his gran that she was mad. We still laugh about it now. “This granny, are you mad?! This mad granny”, he’d say. He was such a teddy bear though. His words were never said out of spite. He never meant any harm and anyone could tell that. He couldn’t lie for shit so we all had the pleasure(?) of hearing his unfiltered thoughts. He often told me I slept like a drunk. His aunt and I still call each other drunks if we pass out without saying goodnight to each other.
He hated spending money. He spoilt me rotten but each time I said thank you he’d shout, “IT’S NOT A PLEASURE!!” You know that meme about the girlfriend who plans the trips and the boyfriend who funds the trips? That was us. I was his spoilt baby gal, his precious. He called me “baby gal” even though I’m two years older than him. He was such an old soul.
He also loved music A LOT. He was ALWAYS listening to music and invested in good quality headphones and bluetooth speakers. That really stuck with me cos I’ve also become very particular about my sound gadgets. I’m also always listening to music now. I feel weird when I’m working and there’s no music. That was his gift to me. I’ve been listening to our music a lot cos it’s always brought me comfort in times I was sick and in hospital. I’m not in hospital right now but he’s not here so I’m listening to our music for comfort. Music is so powerful like that.
I think I miss him a lot cos in the hardest of lockdowns when everything was closed he’s the only person I still saw regularly even though we didn’t stay together. He worked at a bank so he had an essential services permit that allowed him to be on the road when the rest of us mere mortals were expected to be at home. He’s always been my constant. So this new reality stings.
He was so sweet and so thoughtful. He never liked the idea of seeming like he spoiled me even though that’s exactly what he did. So he would create fake challenges and reward me with something I’d mentioned I wanted like my iPhone, my laptop, my washing machine, clothes, shoes, bags, jewelry etc. A spoilt baby gal I’m telling you.
Anyway, there’s so much I want to say about him. I don’t think I could ever capture his full essence in words. He was a ball of magic trapped in a man’s body. An angel in human form.
My Tshegofatso. The love of my life. Life is just not the same without him. I will never stop telling stories about your life, my sweet.
Someone said he died first cos he knew I’d write him immortal. I think that’s so precious. What a sweet thing to say. Yes, I will write him immortal.