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It’s hard to explain what it feels like to lose a child. Amy was 26. Bright. Active. She loved swimming, loved people, and loved South Africa. When she was killed in Gugulethu in 1993, it left a huge void. A sadness I can’t describe. But I knew I had to do something with that emptiness.

People often ask me how I could forgive the young men who killed my daughter. I understand their confusion. It is still very difficult for others to understand how we are able to bury our anger, hurt and hatred. But for me, it was about filling the void. I didn’t want to be consumed by bitterness. I wanted to honour Amy.

So, my husband Peter and I came to South Africa. We walked the streets of Gugulethu. We met the families of Amy’s killers. We listened. We cried. And we forgave.

Forgiveness, though, is only the beginning. The next step was reconciliation. That’s what we tried to do. We didn’t just forgive and walk away. We stayed. We worked. We built the Amy Foundation.

One of Amy’s killers, Ntobeko Peni, now works with us. I’ve seen him grow into a father, a mentor, a leader. “He could have been in prison. He could be dead. Instead, he’s raising a child to participate in this multi-gender, racial, great country.” That brings me joy. Real joy.

I often wonder what Amy would think. I hope she’d say, “Mom, you’re doing a good job. Don’t give up.” I think she would expect me to be the person I am - but to grow. To embrace the causes and the people she loved.

Thirty years later, I still walk these streets. I still feel Amy’s spirit. And I still believe that reconciliation is not just possible - it’s necessary. Anger and bitterness prevent understanding. But when we open our hearts, we create space for something bigger than pain.

That’s what South Africa gave me: the chance to turn grief into grace.