Yakabatanidzwa ruzha

I’ve got that numb feeling again as the officiant begins to speak. The words bounce off of me, making it hard to process what’s being said. Something about remembering and honoring. Hushed cries ripple through the crowd, but I can’t pinpoint where they’re coming from. If my legs were capable of moving I might have tried to offer comfort. It’s a ridiculous thought in some ways. Me offering comfort. When it’s my mom who’s lying in the sleek black coffin being lowered into the ground.