i remember the square in italy, as if i was lounging there over a meal, just yesterday. i was little, very little. i was 5 with the eager memory of a sponge. dad was upset: very upset. mom was hiding me in her leather jacket, from his hands that wanted to hit my backside every few seconds. he was hungry. mom was hungry and i was hungrier than both of them and myself combined. he refused to buy the expensive food in the closest restaurant and i wanted mcdonald's which he also refused to buy. he settled on dates and some other snacks from a local shop on the corner. he did this knowing full well that i did not eat dates, not because i was fussy but because he told me lies about them!

he would buy those blocks of dates that are all shiny and with absolute delight his large hands would break chunks off to include in his morning cereal. all of this was happening while he told me about the 'arabs in turbans' who sat under the palm trees and spat on the dates to make them so shiny!

this 5 year old was not going to the eat spittle from a strange man half away across the world, sitting under his palm tree. not in south africa. not in italy. so this 5 year old went hungry that night and felt extremely sorry for herself. her father angrily ate his dates and off to bed the family went at 7pm.

the memories still hang thick in my mind. so too does the grief: the ache from losing this big man who told me stories and taught me how to delight in the world. this man who loved me infinitely, this man who originated my genetic core and breathed life into my heart time and time again. this man who exasperated me endlessly just because he was my father and because that is how daughters and their dad's operate. this man whose death has left an irreparable tear in my life.

someone once asked me what grief is like, the grief that comes after the mourning. i explained that it is like the african woman who balances a very heavy bucket of water on her slender neck. it is a burden you always carry, day in and day out. it becomes a companion just as her bucket is water to her family and although her neck is slender, it teaches her to walk with a straight back, for if she doesn't, it all comes crashing down. grief gives you posture. 

i am posturing today, giving in to raw, hoping it doesn't all come crashing down. it is a sensual act, this opening of the heart, allowing it to bleed.