One thing I admired the most about my mother, Daisy Kunene, it was the fact that she knew when to put up a good fight. She did not bring up the issue of the heart transplant the next morning, she woke up and prepared breakfast for me. It was nothing fancy, at least not something I would prefer, but as she always said, “Doctor’s orders.” I had to eat ‘healthy,’ the doctor had put me on a strict diet—greens, greens, and greens all the way. But I did not complain, I was used to it by now, and the fun part of it all was that my mother never left me to suffer through this alone. She ate whatever I ate, well, except for the palace food, which by the way I’d forgotten to bring for her last night.I finished breakfast, grabbed my book, and went to sit in our garden.Neither of us could ever say it out loud, but our garden was probably the most priced possession in our yard, not even the house measured up to it.This garden was a memory fountain, it reminded us so much of dad. I remem
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