I kept telling myself I had no right to any kind of grief at all—that what I was mourning was what might have been if things had been different—but still I felt as though his death had gouged a hole in me. I could feel the wind whistling through it, the sound so forlorn that it kept me awake at night as I stared into the darkness.

Ruth had tried to make me go to Daniel’s funeral after she’d found me curled up in bed, staring at the last photograph I’d received of him.

“He’s so handsome,” she’d said, taking the Polaroid from my hands as she sat down on the bed next to me. “He looks like you.” I didn’t see the resemblance. I thought he looked like his father. “Are you going to the funeral?” Ruth asked, handing the Polaroid back.

I shook my head.

“You could never tell anyone you were his mother when he was still alive. Surely now that he’s passed on, and you’re no longer in that secular life, you can go and talk to his friends and congregants. Tell them that you’re his mother. I’m sure they’d love to talk to you about him and you can get to know him through them. Even claim him as your own.”

Claim him. As if such a thing could ever be that easy.

“Okay,” she continued through my silence. “At least think about going to visit Daniel’s grave. Maybe get some closure. It couldn’t hurt. And if you’re not ready now, wait until you are.”

“How will I know when I’m ready?” I whispered.

“You’ll get a sign, of course.”

Ruth thought it was callous of me not to go and lay my son to rest, but how could I, when Father Thomas would be there conducting the service? What kept me away was cowardice. Say what you wanted about Ruth, she wasn’t a coward and didn’t take crap from anyone. There was a lot about my sister that drove me crazy but I had to admire her courage. More than admire it, I was envious of it. Her audacity in standing up to the dominee was more than a mere act of defiance, it was completely taboo in the Afrikaner culture, which emphasized respect for male elders and community leaders above all else.

As little girls, Ruth and I were taught to always defer to the most senior white male at any gathering, and then to view the pecking order down from him according to age and social standing. It didn’t matter if you didn’t know the men at any given event, you had to go and greet them all, kissing them on the lips, before you were able to run off and play with the other children.