Once at Aunty U’s funeral, her grandson, almost 8 walked into the sea of grieving women and standing at the end of her body he looked at her and wept silently, until one of the grieving women grabbed him and held him to her chest as his sobs shook his body. And I too, felt the familiar pull to hold and comfort and I thought, ah so this is what it is to be a woman and then I thought, perhaps this is what it is to be my father’s daughter.
