Carine Hartman
Chief sub-editor
2 minute read
20 Feb 2021
8:32 am

Nothing like the love of a mother

Carine Hartman

Never said much, just adored me with her eyes.

Image: iStock.

Wat is ’n huis sonder ’n moeder? the cross-stitch in the oppressor’s language told me every time I walked past my gran’s fireplace. Neatly framed, like apartheid. But here’s the thing: mothers are a universal language. Mothers are the glue – and I, maybe for the first time, cry over mine. She died 13 years ago; mad as a hatter. She didn’t know Hubby, my kids, my brother – but she lit up when I walked in. Never said much, just adored me with her eyes. She had Alzheimer’s, they told me then. That’s how they diagnosed all people who...