THAT DAY HAUNTS ME
SHE gazes at the framed pictures on the wall: in one a little boy is smiling, in another a blonde woman laughs.
Drusilla Vorster (61) sips her coffee and sighs deeply in her home in Despatch, Eastern Cape. The photos are of her beloved daughter and precious grandson – two people she’ll never see again, never hug hello or kiss goodbye.
“My child had this way of smiling – she showed lots of teeth but her eyes didn’t smile,” she says. “Her eyes reflected the sadness inside her.”
Drusilla lost her grandson Jeandré in 1996 and now his mother too. And she blames
