Mum,
Three weeks ago this Wednesday, you took your last breath and as you left to cross the veil, my world, our world, is now a lot less rich and a lot less colourful without you in it. I’ve come down with the flu since we took you to lie at our family urupa, Oikimoke and it’s my first one I've had in so many years! I celebrate it because in the last few years it's been hectic for me, health-wise, as you well know.
It’s comforting to know you’re nearby so when I came to see you, you became the fortunate (or nonchalant) recipient of a whole range of my emotions. We were Mack-truck hit by the shock of losing you and it's since been a whirlwind. When people talk about the experience of losing a loved one you frequently hear the expression “everything was just a blur” and it really is no exaggeration. I can authentically empathise now. Time just stands still. It’s like that scene in a movie when the voices of all the peripheral characters become muffled and eventually dim as you process the gravity of the statements delivered by the ICU consultant.
“Increased support on machines.”
“70% oxygen.”
“Call your brothers....”
I recall only vaguely who I had conversations with and what about that day. I remember who was there but not, with any distinction, what I said or agreed to and all the while my heart was breaking...
“Increased support on machines.”
“70% oxygen.”
“Call your brothers....”
I recall only vaguely who I had conversations with and what about that day. I remember who was there but not, with any distinction, what I said or agreed to and all the while my heart was breaking...
Until today I’ve been in a state of disbelief. Not wanting to believe the truth.
Until today I have refused to visit you for it meant it was all too real.
But today, as I bent, doubled over at the foot of your grave, I didn’t think I would feel this almost physical, wrenching pain. My response...well...it was as I expected. Mostly an outpouring of bad-ass anger, wailing and ALL the tears of Ranginui, our Sky Father. But mostly wailing. I suspect I would do well at an Irish wake.
But boy oh boy, this pain. Like a steel vice, a slow but violent subduing of my heart and its beat. At times it was as if I couldn’t breathe my usual, deep belly breaths and my stomach felt like a large rock had settled there, impervious, never to dissolve. I was in fight or flight mode. Scared witless but helpless to act and my eyes constantly scanned the room for an anchor to tether myself to.
Were it not for the amazing support of our whΔnau and friends during the hospital stay, your tangi and the subsequent weeks, things might have been very different. You would have been chuffed though because you've always supported people who go through hard times just like this so it was only natural that your family and our friends rallied around us in a collective outpouring of grief.
Until today I have refused to visit you for it meant it was all too real.
But today, as I bent, doubled over at the foot of your grave, I didn’t think I would feel this almost physical, wrenching pain. My response...well...it was as I expected. Mostly an outpouring of bad-ass anger, wailing and ALL the tears of Ranginui, our Sky Father. But mostly wailing. I suspect I would do well at an Irish wake.
But boy oh boy, this pain. Like a steel vice, a slow but violent subduing of my heart and its beat. At times it was as if I couldn’t breathe my usual, deep belly breaths and my stomach felt like a large rock had settled there, impervious, never to dissolve. I was in fight or flight mode. Scared witless but helpless to act and my eyes constantly scanned the room for an anchor to tether myself to.
Were it not for the amazing support of our whΔnau and friends during the hospital stay, your tangi and the subsequent weeks, things might have been very different. You would have been chuffed though because you've always supported people who go through hard times just like this so it was only natural that your family and our friends rallied around us in a collective outpouring of grief.
Deep down, I know I’ll get through this heartache. It will take time. Knowing that you’re not a phone call away is one of the hardest things to bear. That we won’t talk nearly every single day just as we used to. Or go out for coffee. Or to garage sales. Or to lunch. That you’re just not there in my life. Or our babies lives. Anymore. Ever! Well....physically at least.
I ask that you please come to visit me in my dreams not so much to let me know you’re alright because I already know that you are. Just drop in and say “Hi”
ππ½
ππ½
You were a magnet. You always attracted people to yourself who possessed inner resolve but most of the time they weren't aware of it. Perhaps that's why I chose you to be my Mum. You helped me to discover and nurture that strength. I also know that in you leaving us to fend for ourselves, we are to find our own personal power. To be resolute, to find the strength to accept what IS and to continue to support one another (all of us that are grieving the loss of YOU) just as you would have done for many others once upon a time.
I’m grateful for that. I always will be.
I’m grateful for that. I always will be.
“The sun will come out
Tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar
That tomorrow
There'll be sun!
Just thinking about
Tomorrow
Clears away the cobwebs,
And the sorrow
'Til there's none!”
Tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar
That tomorrow
There'll be sun!
Just thinking about
Tomorrow
Clears away the cobwebs,
And the sorrow
'Til there's none!”
Love you endlessly
Your Sweet
πππ
Your Sweet
πππ