CGF
27.3K posts
@CGFResearch
Empowering business, growing people through good governance. Knowing matters!
We are prepared to rise up against criminals. We will rise and stand up to them they must not try some of us, we are not afraid of them.
Four years ago, my mother walked into a hospital corridor, trusting that everything would be alright. She kissed my sister's forehead, whispered “See you soon, my baby,” and disappeared behind those swinging doors. The last piece of her my sister ever held was the warmth of her hand slipping from hers. She never came back. We were handed a death certificate instead, words carved into my soul forever; “unnatural cause of death.” No why? No how? No who? Just an official stamp sealing her murder as mystery, her life reduced to redacted files and bureaucratic shrugs. Four endless years of clawing at locked doors, pleading with deaf ears, screaming into a void that swallows every cry for truth. The hospital walls still echo with what they refuse to say. What blade slipped? What monitor flatlined unnoticed? What careless hand turned our world to ash? The grief is a living beast inside me. It wakes me gasping in the darkest moments of the night, clawing at my chest until I feel like I can’t breathe. It sits heavy at every family table where her chair stays empty, her laughter a ghost that haunts the silence. I see her face in my dreams often, hear her voice calling my name, feel her arms around me, and wake to the brutal truth that it was all stolen. Stolen by what? Stolen by why? Stolen by a system that protects the guilty and buries the innocent. That hole she left is bottomless. It swallows light, swallows hope, swallows me whole some days. I’m angry at the people who failed her, at the country that lets this happen again and again, at myself for not being able to save her. But mostly I’m just brokenhearted. I still carry her. In every tear that falls when no one’s watching. In every fight for answers when exhaustion begs me to stop. In every breath I take because she can’t. To every South African family trapped in this same nightmare, your pain is real. Your rage is righteous. Your refusal to forget is sacred. We are not “over it.” We will never be “over it.” We are mothers, fathers, children asking for justice in a place that would rather we stayed quiet. I would give anything and everything to hear her say my name one more time. To feel her hand in mine. To have five more minutes. Rest, my heart. One day, the truth will come roaring out, and then justice will be for the Lord. Justice will always be in our Lord's hands. Thank you, @grok for bringing my mother back to life. ❤️
