It's been a crazy, if not surreal, few weeks over here in New Zealand.
Returning home for anyone is often emotional. I hadn't seen mother
since mid-2008, and now heading towards 88 years of age, she's slowing down in a dramatic way since I last saw her.
We all get wrapped up in the "now", in our own lives, what we think is important, and what we believe is more pressing because it's right in front of our eyes: local issues, politics, disputes and even saving the environment. All valuable and laudable pursuits.
However there is nothing more grounding than taking stock and smelling the roses, as we often tell others who are running around at light speed, righting the wrongs and making the world a better place. All speed to them.
I won't make this a long piece as in the last 48 hours, my aunt, Dad's sister, passed away at the ripe age of 94. She was born in November 1916. I have been asked to put together a memorial presentation from images and recollections of her long life. It will be presented with Terry Oldfield's A Celtic Blessing, the same haunting and uplifting musice I used for dad's service back in 1997. I finished putting it all together at 2:15am this morning, as mother slept in the adjoining room. The service for Margaret Moore, or Mardy as she was known to us, will take place just after lunch today in Christchurch.
When I arrived here just on three weeks ago, I was confronted with my mother's dramatic change. There's no doubt I am experiencing in her, signs of forgetfulness, fear and, I suspect, some traits of dementia. Nevertheless, accepting where she's at and how well she's not coping, is all part of life's odd and rich journey.
In the last 12 months, mother's world was turned upside down. She moved from our family home where I was born 46 years ago, as a direct result of being hospitalised when she became emotionally and physically distraught after Claire, her last surviving sister, passed within weeks of being diagnosed with Pancreatic cancer. It triggered a series of events that put her into a spiral. She now resides in a tiny apartment in a care facility, and refuses to believe or understand that the family home has been sold. Fiercely independent after losing Maurice 13 years ago, she's breaking off contact and resisting connections from those that just want to share time and just say hello from her circle of friends.
It's hard to fathom why anyone would, but there's pride deep inside mum that I believe she doesn't want others to see that she and her 'home' has been reduced to this meager existence. Yet she's surrounded bysimilar people who hold onto life and celebrate what they have. Possessions mean little at this end of life.
I've struggled, but persisted, over the last few weeks, to engage and trek her to notable places from our mutual past. We went to the quaint and remote country St Brigids Church at Loburn in North Canterbury. She was narried there. I'll share a moving and dramatic revelation that occurred as we were at the graveside of her mother and father, Greta and Alec. It was nothing short of heart-stopping but delivered in a matter or fact way, as if it was just that right time to share, after all these years.
Such experiences puts life into dramatic perspective.
I think back to the defamation action that Councillor Blake is taking against me, and in the scheme of things, it really doesn't matter. Sure it's important and needs resolving, and I hope that he will assist in a mutual conclusion on my return, but that pails into little meaning when you touch life's rich and special moments. I know Alan is close to his family as well and will relate to what is important in the bigger picture. He'd be inhuman to think otherwise.
I've also felt a number of the aftershocks from Canterbury's amazing earthquake in early September. The 4.9 one on Sunday evening, although nothing like
the original 7.1, was still frightening. I've seen the dramatic damage to buildings and the land and met with some of the geo nuts at Canterbury University, including computer programmer Paul Nicholas, who created the
live quake map. Also did coffee with local councillors and the boss of Christchurch Tourism, who gave me time to chat and compare Cairns with this region. I'll share those video interviews later.
Since last Friday, like you no doubt, I've been following the excruciating developments with the 29 miners deep in the heart of the South Island's West Coast. As I was leaving the funeral home around 4pm yesterday with mother after seeing Mardy resting, National Radio blurted the news that there was a second explosion, that meant with little doubt, the lads had most definitely perished. Dad was born in Hokitika on the Coast, so I know that area well as we had many a family visit there in out youth.
Whilst here, I've stayed with my brother Chris and his partner Jane, and their two amazing kids, Courteney and Oliver, and also crashed a few nights at mother's small apartment rest home as we spent the smallhours together before bedtime. I've also had the support and help of some amazing people back in Cairns, who helped make my trip possible. I will return soon and continue to share the stories.
So right now, I wear my Pounamu with pride as I head off to send off Auntie Mard, who will rest alongside dad at the Ruru cemetery.