Carol’s Column

The ultimate nightmare is not knowing, and waiting

As a mother I have always believed the worst thing that can ever happen to a parent is to lose a child. All death is sad because it is final. Our grandparents and parents die, but that is the normal order of events.

For a parent to lose a child, I thought, was the ultimate tragedy. Today I believe that is not so. There is, if possible, something worse.

To watch your child dying of an illness against which you are powerless is worse.

I have a son who is a drug addict.

Drug addiction is an illness, although it is self-inflicted. For six years, we as a family have watched my son slowly killing himself and then, just before death, fighting back to stay alive.

Today, and I mean today, not tomorrow or even next week, he is alive and well, studying and attempting to come to terms with his life. That takes courage, faith and a lot of guts.

If, as a mother, I have learnt anything it is to take each day as it comes. To be thankful each time I speak to my son and hear his voice and know that, at this moment, he is alive, well and not drugging.

The torture of the past years has been indescribable. Searching through the most sordid parts of this city for my boy. Visiting the Hillbrow morgue to see if an overdosed youngster lying cold on the slab is my son. Phoning hospitals, police stations and even, in desperation, visiting dealers in the hope that they might have seen my son alive.

So I thought the worst thing for a parent is to watch your child slowly trying to kill himself. Not because he wanted to, but because he was caught in the grip of a monster.

Today, I believe, if possible, there is something even worse that parents must bear.

Seven years ago five little girls disappeared, allegedly abducted by paedophiles Gert van Rooyen and Joey Haarhof. Nobody knows what happened to them or whether they are still alive.

In the past weeks there has been much activity around the Van Rooyen house as it has been dug up and demolished. Over the years, each time as various possible leads emerge, the dreadful facts resurface and the hunt for the girls persists. At what cost to the parents?

My heart breaks for them because they are living the ultimate nightmare. They do not know. They do not know what has happened to their precious daughters. And, as long as you do not know, there is always hope.

The demolition of each brick in the Van Rooyen house must bring hurt and pain to each of those parents. The dreadful waiting as digging releases secrets from the earth.

The horror upon hearing reports that the police have discovered bone fragments, the relief when they turn out to be animal remains.

The media calls it "House of Horrors", then suggests, according to the police, that the girls may be somewhere in Africa. You can't blame the media, they are doing a job. But how do those parents feel?

These little girls are not mine, yet in bed at night, I thank God that my young daughter is safe, that my sons are well. That I know where they are.

There is something worse than the death of a child. It's the despair of not knowing. The hope that perhaps, against all odds, the children will be found.

I just wanted the parents missing their beloved daughters to know we all share their agony.

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